Life at Burnside
by Chunky Chihuahua
Summary: Something a little different--not at Hogwarts, but Burnside Academy in America. Ryann has been accepted for her freshman year this fall...what's it like at a magical school in America?
1. Chapter One

IMPORTANT NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR: Please don't read this story, unless you are planning to give helpful reviews or something. This isn't because I'm stingy and greedy and want all the reviews I can get, it's because I'm REWRITING THE STORY COMPLETELY and don't want you to read this version, then see the _new_ version and get confused. Do you see what I mean? So read it if you really want to, but keep in mind that this version WILL NOT BE FINISHED because it's as good as trash right now. I'm only leaving it up because I hate taking things down (obviously it's not because of the reviews, of which I have two).

Notes from the author: As you will soon notice, this story DOES NOT take place at Hogwarts. None of the characters mentioned in this chapter are part of JK Rowling's world—they're all original characters. All of them. It's her _main idea_ I'm using in my story, not her specific characters and stories. I'm sure people from Hogwarts will show up now and again, and of course Harry Potter and all still _exists_, but he's not part of my story. My reason for this? I flipping feel like it.

This also takes place in America, but I don't want people freaking out on me because of that. Everyone gets pissed when Americans (like me) try to write stories that take place in Britain, because we always get stuff wrong. It's especially important in this story that I'm confident in the way American schools are run, etc. Research only goes so far.

The fact that this takes place in America means that some things are going to be different. I'm not sending my characters to Hogwarts—how does that make any sense?—so I have to create my own school in America. Creating a carbon-copy of Hogwarts would be lame, boring, and illegal. So if you notice little details that aren't the same as in the books, don't flip out. It's meant to be that way.

I don't have much else to say, so here's the first chapter! Hope you enjoy it!

On June 26th, 1999, I had been eleven for roughly two months and my life was, as far as I was concerned, perfect. I let my parents and older sister, who was then already seventeen, worry about politics and world issues, while I walked around in a world of Lisa Frank stickers, cute furry animals, and homework consisting of one spelling worksheet and a few math problems each night. I spent entire summers playing softball in the back yard with my best friend Jane, and school was merely a social event I attended for six hours a day. My alarm clock was my mom's voice, and the big yellow school bus was a welcome and familiar sight in the mornings.

I lived in a smallish city in Washington, right near Portland, Oregon, and was entirely happy with my suburban home. My family was pretty well off money-wise, but the farthest we went on vacations was to see relatives in southern California, so my world consisted mainly of identical houses lined up along peaceful streets, and occasional glimpses of crop fields on our drives to Grandma and Grandpa's house near San Francisco. Before I was nine years old, I'd never even ridden on an airplane. That trip was to my other grandfather's funeral in Arizona. I never knew him, so I was mostly bored throughout the affair. All I really remember is how hot I was in my black skirt and black wool cardigan—the only black top I owned. Mom was crying, because it was her dad who'd died, but I was mostly annoyed that I had to be there at all. It wasn't even open casket, so I didn't get to see a dead body, and besides that—I had to wear a _skirt_. With _tights_.

The 26th of June started out quite normally, just a regular summer morning in southern Washington. I had, by this time, lost the excitement of getting out of school, and was already getting bored with my summer. One can only play hide-and-go-seek so many times before one gets tired of sitting behind a bush, waiting for someone to come along. My apathy towards summer had resulted in my getting up later than usual, preferring to sleep rather than think of something to do with my day.

Now that I think about it, the day _was_ unusually hot and muggy, but that had mostly to do with the coming storm. The electricity in the air probably added to the strange out-of-place feeling that came over me as I ate breakfast, but at the time I thought it was kind of foreboding, and was unusually jumpy. My mom commented on this with a laugh when I spilled the milk upon hearing the screen door slam shut.

"You're a little antsy today, Marietta," she said quietly. My mother said and did everything quietly and softly; she was a kind of delicate person, and moved with a slow grace that I could never seem to match. She was particularly beautiful, in an airy sort of way—her pale blonde hair was very light and seemed to float when caught in a breeze, and her light blue eyes looked almost white in bright light. Even her skin was pale, and smooth as porcelain over her soft features. I used to think she would blow away in a strong wind, but she always remained firmly on the ground.

I look nothing like my mom; I inherited everything from my dad, except my hands and feet—those are delicate and small like hers. But my light brown hair, dark blue eyes, and warm complexion are all my dad's. In summer, we both tan darkly, and by August are "brown as berries," as mom puts it. My hair, in contrast, gets a little bit lighter—at least according to my parents, but I'm pretty sure they just say that to make me happy. Even my features are more masculine and less delicate than my mom's, from my broad shoulders to my strong chin. I rather like my face—it fits my personality, I like to think—but I think my mom would rather I look like my sister, Phoebe. She is the carbon copy of mom, but for her ears. They stick out like mine and my dad's, and Phoebe is _constantly_ complaining about them, asking for surgery and such. I think they look fine, and they're far more useful for tucking hair behind.

On the aforementioned day, as on nearly every day that summer, Jane came over in the morning for breakfast. She lived with her dad, and he left for work very early in the morning, long before she woke up. He'd leave the cereal out for her, sometimes with a cheerful note if he had time, but she usually came over to my house for a less lonely breakfast. On the rare occasion that her dad got to go in late, she'd invite me over there—we both loved her dad to pieces, and I rarely saw him since I didn't live with him.

The screen door had slammed when Jane came in, and it made me jump even though I should have expected it. Moments later she walked in, even more excited than usual. Her dark brown eyes were oddly bright as she sat down next to me.

"What's got you so happy?" I asked quietly as my mom turned to get a bowl out for her.

"I just got—" she began, then stopped herself. She seemed to consider her response a moment, then shrugged. "I got a letter," she finished lamely.

"C'mon!" I said, laughing. "Tell the truth!"

"Well, that is the truth!" Jane insisted. Then, in a lower voice, "I'll show it to you later." That was good enough for me, so I went back to my cereal without another word, though my head was filled with incredible possibilities for what the letter might be.

I was so absorbed in my daydream that a sharp tap on the window failed to attract my attention. But a happy squeal from Jane did just fine. I jumped again, knocking a spoonful of cereal back into the bowl, and looked up. Jane was running toward the window over the sink, where a large bird stood waiting outside on the sill.

"Ooh, Jane, honey, quiet," my mom breathed softly. "You'll scare it." She reached out and gently grabbed hold of Jane's arm, restraining her. But the bird at the window didn't seem scared of her at all. In fact, it was ignoring her, staring past her…

Right at me.

It tapped a claw on the window again, glaring at me with its amber eyes. I saw then that there was a letter attached to its leg.

"Mom, it's got a letter!" I said in surprise, standing up from the table and walking toward the bird. Somewhere in my mind I decided it must be an owl, though I'd only ever seen pictures of them and didn't really know what they looked like. This one had large, surprised-looking eyes with high eyebrows—at least, they looked kind of like eyebrows. It was very beautiful, its feathers all shades of brown and white. When I was standing at the window and it still hadn't stirred, I turned to look at my mom.

"Can I get it?"

"The—the letter?" she said quietly. I nodded.

"It's probably got an address on it, we could deliver it later…" I just wanted to touch the owl; it looked so soft and plush.

"Well, I—I suppose so…" She didn't look too happy about this, as if the owl might attack me any moment, but Jane was nodding excitedly at me, so I carefully unlatched the window and slid it open. The owl didn't even flinch when the window clunked into place, as if it was used to this sort of thing. I'd heard of delivery pigeons on television—was this a kind of variation on that idea?

Murmuring soft, hopefully soothing words under my breath, I reached out and touched the bird's breast with my fingertips. It stared at me unblinkingly, but didn't seem to mind my touch. I stroked it a few times, reveling in the springy feel to its feathers, then reached down to untie the letter.

It was rather heavy for a letter—perhaps that's why it was sent by bird, rather than post. Maybe the sender didn't want to pay extra postage or something. The minute I had the letter off the owl's leg, it took off from the window and disappeared over the roof. Feeling glad I'd petted the owl before it could fly away, I closed the window again and walked back to the table, glancing at the address as I did.

"Hey, mom—it's for me!" My mother had released Jane by now, and my friend was hovering over my shoulder as I surveyed the envelope. It was made from a heavy, yellowish parchment, and the address was written in bright yellow ink, so that I had to tilt it to see what it said. "Ms. Marietta Ryann Patterson."

I suppose I should explain something about my name. When my mother got pregnant, she and dad were so sure they'd have a boy that they came up with only boy's names. They grew very attached to the name Ryan, and were all ready to have a Ryan Patterson in the family. When I was born a girl, they were quite shocked—I'm the first girl in a number of generations of Pattersons, and they're not too common on my mom's side either. My mom felt terribly guilty for wanting to name me Ryan and all, but neither she nor my dad wanted to part with their favorite name. In the end, they gave it to me as a middle name—adding an extra n to make it more feminine or something—and came up with the girliest name they could think of for my first name. My mom decided on Marietta, and Marietta I became. But she's the only one who calls me that—I can't stand the name, so everyone else has to call me Ryann.

"Mom, they even got my middle name right and everything," I told her excitedly. There was no return address—was this a really late birthday card or something? The rest of the address was extremely peculiar: The Third Chair, The Kitchen, 1219 Willow Way, and then all the usual stuff.

"Open it already!" Jane burst out. I realized I'd been staring pointlessly at the envelope, wondering who it was from, when I could just open it up and find out. Mom sat down at the table across from me, looking even paler than usual. Her hands were shaking slightly, and she spread them out on the placemat to steady them.

I turned the envelope over. There was a large wax seal on the back with what looked like a coat of arms on it. Whoever had pressed the wax had slipped slightly, and the design was unrecognizable. I ignored the seal and ripped open the side of the envelope, then dumped its contents onto my lap.

The letter was written on the same yellow parchment as the envelope, in the same bright yellow ink. I held it up to the light so I could read it more easily:

_Dear __Ms.__Patterson__:_

_I am delighted to inform you that you have been accepted at Burnside Academy of Magical Instruction. Your first semester will begin on 6 September this fall. You will be picked up at 8:30 A. M. on 6 September, and will arrive at the school that evening. If you have any questions or concerns, please feel free to contact __Professor__Belinda__Appleby__ by owl. We greatly anticipate your arrival at __Burnside__, and welcome you with open arms!_

_Sincerely,_

_Professor__Angela__Rilozo___

I read the letter twice through, sure I was seeing something wrong. A trick of the light, perhaps—surely there was no such thing as an academy of _magical instruction_? I looked at Jane, expecting her to be as mystified as I was.

"Isn't it _wonderful_?" she breathed, far from perplexed. Her eyes were open wide, and she was positively bouncing with excitement. "I'm so glad you got one too, dad said you might, cause of your dad of course, but he was the only one I think, not like my family, we go way back, dad was just expecting mine any day now…" She babbled on happily, but I wasn't really listening. What did she mean about my dad? And what was this letter all about? From the way she was talking, Jane had gotten one too. I realized this was probably the one she'd mentioned earlier.

"Mom?" Ignoring Jane, I turned to look at my mother. Her face had gone white, her pretty mouth turned down at the corners. Her hands still shook on the table, though she'd clenched them into fists now. "Mom, what's this all about?" She shifted her blank gaze to me, and looked me up and down very quickly.

"I think we'd better let your father explain this," she said firmly, the airy tone in her voice gone. She stood suddenly and left the room, her pale golden hair floating along behind her.

I turned back to Jane, utterly bewildered by now. There was obviously something going on that my parents knew about, but I didn't. Why did Jane know about it too? If her dad had told her, why had I been kept in the dark?

"Jane?" She was still talking, now just to herself. She stopped and looked at me, as if surprised I was there.

"Yeah?"

"Um…what is this?" I held up the letter, then realized there was another one behind it. I set the first one down on the table and looked at the second. Jane hadn't answered my question, but for the moment I didn't care. It looked to be a list of school supplies. I held it up to the light again, annoyed that this Rilozo person had written in such a bad color:

_Freshmen will need to acquire the following supplies for their first year at Burnside Academy:_

Followed a list of things I'd never heard of as school supplies, such as "cauldron, size 2, iron" and "Magical Creatures of the Northwest by Jillian Corna." I was sure I was reading it wrong when I saw that I was expected to buy a wand and a "standard beginning potions kit," whatever that was supposed to be. I skimmed the list of supplies and spotted an asterisk toward the bottom of the page:

_Suggested reading for freshmen of non-magical heritage:_

The list was short, naming only four books. After reading the title of the first book (Magic and You: A guide to dealing with magical changes among adolescents) I decided this all must be a joke and set the letter on the table.

"Jane."

"Yes?"

"What in heck is going on here?!" I yelled. I've never been as quiet as my mother, and I don't have her cool temperament either. I have a very short fuse, especially when I feel like I'm being made fun of.

"What—what do you mean?" Jane was clearly taken aback by my sudden mood swing.

"You guys are playing a joke on me!" I whined, feeling thoroughly embarrassed and angry.

"You—you really don't know at all? I mean, your dad hasn't mentioned… anything?"

"Mentioned anything about _what_?" Tears were brimming in my eyes, but I was too old to throw a tantrum—especially in front of my friend. I blinked and tried to calm down.

"About—about magic!" In her surprise, Jane didn't seem to notice my almost-tears. "About him being a wizard! My dad told me a long time ago, but he asked me not to mention it to you in case… You know, in case you weren't one. Muggles aren't supposed to know about it, see?"

"Mug—_what are you talking about?_" I was thoroughly flustered. Jane was excitable, hyper, and had her silly moments, but something—possibly her mother's early death a few years back, possibly just her own personality—had made her grow up a lot faster than most of the kids on our street. She still liked playing games in the street and watching cartoons on Saturday mornings, but she was pretty serious most of the time. When Jane said something was so, it was so.

"Hey, your dad can tell you better than I can. Or my dad will tell you, but you'd have to wait till tonight for that, he's working late again. Or why don't you ask your mom? I mean, she's not a witch or anything, but she's bound to know something, being married to your dad all this time and everything."

"Hey! My dad is not a _witch_!" I yelled defensively.

"Of course not," she replied calmly with a giggle. "Only girls are witches, your dad's a wizard."

"Oh, that's much better," I muttered sarcastically. These words—witch and wizard and moogle or whatever—they didn't _mean_ anything to me. In storybooks, those were people who could do magic—at least, witches and wizards were. Witches were evil, green old ladies with huge warts that flew around on broomsticks, and wizards wore blue robes with stars and moons on them and did magic spells by saying "Abracadabra!" and waving their hands. They had long white beards and were very old. My dad was always clean-shaven, and wasn't old at all, and the image of him in a blue, starry robe and a matching pointed hat was laughable. Besides, if he could do magic, why _didn't_ he?

But Jane wasn't being much help. She kept explaining things in words I couldn't understand, and was going way too fast for me to catch most of it anyway. I decided to leave the letter on the table and talk to my dad when he got home from work. I stopped Jane, told her I would ask my dad about it later, and suggested we go play Frisbee with the girls down the street. She shrugged her indifference, though she looked rather disappointed that we were getting off this fascinating subject of conversation, and we went outside to get the Morrison girls, who had the best collection of Frisbees on the block.

When my dad got home from work at five-thirty that evening, I was still outside playing ball with the neighbors. We had long since moved on from Frisbee and were playing a game the teenagers had made up last summer. The rules kept changing and the teams switched around a lot, so it was difficult to keep up with the game, but that made it much more fun and exciting. Besides, the punishments for doing something wrong were half the fun, and it was easier to mess up when you didn't know what you were supposed to be doing in the first place. The game was so involved that I quickly forgot all about the letter, and would have played all night if Jane's dad hadn't driven up at seven o'clock to bring her home. He gave me a lift too, though our houses were only at the end of the block, and seeing him reminded me of the letter. I realized my dad had probably already seen it, as I'd just left it there on the table, and hoped he'd come up with an easy explanation for everything. 

Mr. Nelson dropped me off at the foot of my driveway and waved out the window as he drove past and pulled into his own driveway next door. When he stepped out of the car, he gave a start as if he'd just seen me, and called across the small lawn between our properties.

"Ryann! My goodness, I haven't seen you in ages! How you've grown…you must be nearly as tall as my knees by now!" Jane's dad loved to make fun of my height; I was very tall for my age even then, and he got a kick out of pretending I was short. He'd make a point to look down his nose at me whenever I was close enough, just to prove he could. I didn't mind; Mr. Nelson was an eternally cheerful man, and I felt very lucky to be friends with him.

I waved as he and Jane disappeared into their house, then walked up the driveway and through my own front door. My dad was sitting at the dining room table, staring at my letter, which he held in his hand. There was an empty coffee mug in front of him, and he had the chair tilted back slightly. If not for the slight frown on his face, he'd be the picture of domestic comfort.

"Hi, dad," I greeted him cheerfully as I walked into the kitchen. I went straight to the cupboard for a glass, filled it with water, and took a long drink before sitting down. "I see you've got my letter." He didn't look up, but continued reading the letter, that little frown still in place.

"Um…you gonna tell me what's going on?" I ventured. I still thought this must be some sort of stupid joke, and I wasn't sure how to go about getting him to tell the truth. He could still be acting, whatever he said.

"Ryann…" He paused, rubbing his forehead. "I should have told you earlier, but after Phoebe didn't…well… We all thought you wouldn't be, you see…"

"No, I _don't_ see, you didn't say anything! And I'm sick of this joke, so just give it up. It's not funny anymore!" Dad glared at me for my outburst, then decided to ignore it.

"This is no joke, Ryann. You're a witch. I'm a wizard. We can do magic, and the school that sent you this letter," he waved it around, "will teach you how to use your magic to your advantage. How to control it, really. I went to Burnside when I was eleven, and graduated when I was eighteen. Seven years—that's how long students study at Burnside. You can think of it as your middle school and high school years, all spent at one school. Except you won't be learning algebra and English and geography, you'll be learning magical theory and history of magic and transfiguration. With me so far?"

I stared at him. Surely he wasn't serious?

"Prove it," I finally said. He looked slightly surprised, as if he'd expected me to swallow his explanation without question.

"I don't—"

"Do magic. Prove you can, or I won't believe you."

"I'm really not supposed—"

"I knew it," I interrupted angrily. "You're all just playing some stupid joke on me, you can't do magic or anything." I stood quickly and ran up to my room, tears in my eyes again, and collapsed onto my bed. They _knew_ I hated being made fun of, why were they doing this?

_Unless it's true_, I thought in spite of myself. It _was_ a pretty elaborate joke, and why bother when they all knew it would make me mad? And my mom's pale face and shaking hands…that was no acting. I turned over to stare out the window at the dusky sky. Was it possible that all this could be real? That my dad was a wizard, and I was a…_witch_?

There was a soft knock at the door, and my dad came in looking slightly chagrined. I watched in silence as he closed the door and sat on the end of my bed.

"Ryann…"

"Dad, just prove it!" I said again. He shook his head sadly.

"I'm not allowed—" He stopped suddenly, eyebrows raised. "Although… Think back, Ryann… Remember the time your bike got a flat tire when you were a mile from home?" I nodded. I'd been seven then, and not very wise about the world. I'd deliberately run over some glass to see if I could break it, and had popped a tire instead. But just as I was getting desperate, wondering how on earth I'd get home without a bike, the tire seemed to fill up again. I'd looked all over for the hole the glass had made, but it was gone. I rode all the way home without problems, and my dad couldn't find anything to fix when I told him what had happened.

"And what about that time at Grandma and Grandpa's house when you and I made that huge mess in the kitchen?" he went on. "Didn't you find it amazing that we got it all cleaned up in just a few minutes, before Grandma got home from church?" I nodded again, my mind already flitting to the other times strange things had happened, always in times of high emotion—fear, or desperation, or anger. I'd once gotten in a fist-fight with Ian Hopkins, the mean boy around the corner, and had managed to dodge all the worst of his punches and kicks. I'd gotten away with only a black eye and a small cut on my lip, though better fighters than me had been pummeled by Ian in the past. Then there was the time I climbed a tree in my neighbor's yard when running from an angry dog. I've never been able to climb that tree since, and I'd previously owed the feat to adrenaline, or even dumb luck. Could there actually have been _magic_ involved?

"Do you see what I mean?" he asked after giving me a minute to think. "You can't attribute _everything_ to luck. As strange as—" He stopped again, and again raised his eyebrows. "Now what about—wait right here, I'll be right back!" He stood quickly and fairly ran from the room, a large smile on his face. I couldn't help but be amused; my dad always got so excited about things.

He returned a few minutes later with a few photographs in his hand. I sat up in bed as he placed them in my lap.

"There!" he said triumphantly. "Photos from Burnside. If that doesn't convince you—" But he needn't continue. I was staring in shock at the picture on top: a young man of about seventeen, with his arm around a girl next to him and a huge smile on his face. To my disbelief, the young man in the picture was _waving_, his arm moving energetically back and forth. As I watched, the girl next to him leaned over and gave him a quick peck on the cheek, and the young man blushed. I turned to look at my dad, still gaping stupidly.

"My best friend at Burnside. They actually broke up a week after I took that picture, but they were only seventeen."

"You took this?" I said in amazement.

"Yep," he replied proudly. It was obvious his idea had worked; I had all the proof I needed right in my hand. I moved the first picture to the back and stared at the next photo. Three teenage guys grinned out at me, holding up identical certificates and wearing graduation clothes. They had badges pinned to their chests, but they were too small to make out. Behind them I could see a bright green lawn and the trunks of what might be pine trees.

"That one on the left is me," dad said, pointing at his younger self. "The one in the middle is the same friend from the first picture, and next to him is his cousin, who was in our year." I stared at them for a moment, then turned to the last picture. It featured an oldish woman with graying hair and a cheerful smile. She was trying to wave, but her arms were full of books that she was trying not to drop. Behind her was the same green lawn, with the corner of a brick building just visible in the distance.

"My favorite teacher, Professor Liveley. She taught Magical Zoology when I was at school, but she may have retired by now. She always wanted to be a zookeeper for magical creatures, so who knows? I can't wait to hear all about Burnside from you, it's been so long since I was last there!" I smiled vaguely, feeling as if I'd been whacked on the head. My whole world seemed to have been reversed, all the old rules I'd felt I could depend on were suddenly no longer true. Magic couldn't exist…it just couldn't…

But it did, and there was no denying it. I was eleven years old—the possibility that the pictures could have been faked somehow did not even cross my mind, though I don't know how that would be accomplished even now. I was old enough to have doubts about this, but young enough that I really _wanted_ it to be true. I still lived half in a fantasy world of dragon books and fairy tales. Magic was something I used to _yearn_ for, and I hadn't completely lost that wish that someday, I might fly, or turn invisible, or become an animal for even a short time…

I decided quite suddenly that I believed my dad. Without the pictures, without any proof at all. Because why _shouldn't _magic exist? All my favorite authors said it did, and the idea must have come from _somewhere_. I grinned up at my dad, completely elated. All my childhood dreams were going to come true! I could turn myself into an eagle or a panther or a horse; I could fly in the clouds on wings of my own making; I could become completely invisible and stride around unseen; all I needed now was for someone to teach me how, and at Burnside I would get such an education.

When my mom called us down for dinner, I was completely lost in fantasies about what I would do once I had learned how to do magic. I could finally get back Phoebe for all the times she'd teased me, which were actually relatively few, but that didn't matter. No one would ever dare come near me again if I threatened to turn them into a toad—even Ian Hopkins couldn't beat people up anymore once I was through with him!

I didn't call Jane right after dinner, knowing she was probably still eating. Besides, she'd gotten her letter today, too, and was probably talking excitedly with her dad about it. After clearing my place, I grabbed the letter off the table and slipped up to my room to read it once more. 

In my room, I collapsed onto my bed and turned on my reading lamp. The ink seemed easier to see now, maybe because it was getting dark outside and the contrast had changed. I read again the first letter, then tossed it aside. Boring—the only important bit was the date and time I'd be picked up. I realized I didn't know _where_ I would be picked up, or how, but figured my dad would be able to tell me. I amused myself for a while, imagining the different ways I could be picked up for school. My favorite by far was the scenario where a witch in green robes with a large wart on her nose flew through the front door on a broomstick, grabbed me by the wrist, and dragged me away. It seemed very traditional and fitting with the stories I'd read, and would be extremely exciting besides.

I grinned and shifted my focus to the supply list. It was exciting at first, but I soon realized it was no better than a supply list for a regular school. There were textbooks galore, and it was rather amusing trying to figure out which subject they might be for, but otherwise I grew bored studying the titles and authors. I also needed a wand, cauldron, beginner's potions supply kit, quills, ink, rolls of parchment in varying lengths, and a blank canvas for beginning art class. I imagined writing with a huge feather dipped in ink and decided to bring some pens to school for back-up.

Under the suggested reading list was a double asterisk:

_Students are allowed ONE small-sized pet, excluding toads and frogs as of 1997. EVERY pet is to have a proper carrying case or cage for transportation purposes. Only non-poisonous snakes are allowed._

I stared at this final notice and my stomach did a flip. That made it sound as if…

"Dad?" I asked, panting slightly. I'd just run downstairs, feeling suddenly very sick.

"Yes, Ryann?" He looked up from the newspaper, peering over the tops of his reading glasses.

"Dad—this school—this Burnside—it's here in town, right?" He stared at me for a minute.

"What makes you think that?" he asked finally.

"But if it's not," I continued desperately, "how am I going to get there every day?" Dad stared at me again, then carefully folded his paper and set it down. Mom was watching from across the table, her pencil poised over a crossword puzzle.

"Ryann, you'll be living there," he said finally. My heart plummeted and I stared at him, momentarily speechless. Then the words started rushing out.

"I can't! No, I can't live—I won't—why should I—they can just have it here or I won't go at all!" Tears were brimming in my eyes. I'd never been away from my family for more than a few days at a time. How could I live without them for a whole semester?!

"Ryann, it's not so terrible," dad promised, his voice it's most soothing. "I did it, too. And your friend Jane will be with you, and you'll make plenty of other friends there—"

"What if I don't!" I wailed, cutting him off. I had a sudden image of myself, alone and friendless, wandering the campus of some huge college where everyone was doing cool magic and I couldn't even turn a toad into a toadstool. "What if I can't learn magic—what if I'm terrible and I _fail_?" I'd never failed at anything in my life! I couldn't take it if I was terrible at magic.

"Ryann, _you'll be fine_," dad assured me again. "You're not the only one coming from a non-magical family, and there are some who have no magic at all in their family before them. Think what they're going through, wondering what on earth it all is! You are not alone, Ryann, and you'll be just fine at Burnside." I stared at him in fear, then turned and bolted upstairs, where I collapsed facedown on my bed and began to cry uncontrollably.


	2. Chapter Two

This chapter was written in a number of sittings, many more than usual. Small details were changed a number of times, and it would be _wonderful_ if you readers could report any confusing bits. As the author, it's hard for me to realize when I'm not telling the whole story, so any help you could give me would be greatly appreciated. Thanks!

------

The following Sunday found me sitting in my dad's car at five in the morning, yawning every few minutes and feeling decidedly grumpy. My mood was not helped by Jane's cheerfulness; she was sitting next to me in the back seat, and had leaned forward so she could talk more animatedly with her father, who was in the passenger seat in front of her. My dad was driving, and looking quite cheerful as well. In fact, they were all positively beaming, so glad were they to be awake and alert at this ungodly hour.

I was most definitely not with them in that view.

I'd been shaken awake only an hour previously, giving me just enough time to shower, dress, and eat before climbing in the car, holding nothing but the Burnside letter. I was still half asleep even now, when we'd been driving for almost fifteen minutes. The car's vibrations actually seemed to be making me even more tired than I already was.

The car ride passed in a haze of jaw-cracking yawns, and many hours later we pulled to a stop outside a small church. My dad and everyone else got out of the car, but I just stared at the chapel before us. This was where we intended to buy cauldrons and wands?

Dad opened my door and beckoned me out. I obeyed sleepily, still staring around, looking for some kind of huge mall or something. Or even just a cleverly disguised shop with special rooms in the back for all your wizarding needs. I didn't know what to expect, but I was certainly not ready to believe a church would sell items used to make (gasp) magic. Dreaded, evil, devilish magic. I smirked at the thought, then realized everyone was walking away and quickly ran to catch up with them.

Jane's dad led us to a very narrow alleyway behind the church. We had to walk single file to fit through it comfortably—the church garden wall was on one side, reaching up past our heads, and a collection of dingy houses squashed us in from the other side. As I entered the alley, I wondered if I'd have even seen it if I didn't already know it was there.

Mr. Nelson, just visible over Jane's shoulder, pulled out a long, straight stick, stained a dark mahogany and polished to a fancy sheen. He smiled slightly and held it up in front of him, level with his eyes, and pointed it at something I couldn't see.

"Mumblewumble!" he said clearly, and a jet of purple light shot out of his wand. I gasped as it hit a wall and exploded into purple and white sparks, which showered thickly over us and obscured everything around us from view. I felt a distinct change in the ground beneath my feet and looked down to see that I was no longer standing on hard asphalt, but thick green grass.

The sparks fell away and disappeared into the grass, and I stared around in shock. The alley behind the church had disappeared; indeed, the church, the houses—the whole neighborhood was gone. We were now standing on a low, grassy hill, looking down the slope at an open-air market. The market was huge; brightly-colored tents and awnings filled the meadow like so many tropical fish in a sea of green. An outrageously colorful sign at the entrance informed us that we had reached Pike's Place Magical Market. It occurred to me that the name sounded familiar, but I was too much in awe to really care. All tiredness forgotten, I happily followed the others down the hill and into the market.

Something—magic, most probably—was preventing the grass from getting trample by all the shoppers and stands. It was lush and springy beneath my feet, and brushed harmlessly against my jeans, some blades as high as my knees. When I wasn't staring at the enchanted grass at my feet, I was staring around, fascinated, at all the shops that had been set up. The tents, too, were obviously enchanted; I saw one woman disappear through a flap in her tent into what looked like another tent beyond, then reemerge with a pile of books moments later. But when we passed by and I looked back, there was no additional tent behind hers; all was grass and shoppers. At another tent we passed, a little boy who'd been sent to get more quills disappeared into the ground, having walked down what looked to be an enchanted staircase.

I never grew used to seeing odd things around the market—salesmen showing off magical products such as self-cleaning dishes, books that held themselves open suspended in midair over the reader's head, and propellered beanies for children that allowed the wearer to float a few feet off the ground. The woman selling these had her daughter with her to demonstrate, and the girl looked rather bored, as if she'd done this thousands of times and had lost all interest in it.

To my great disappointment, dad and Mr. Nelson led us through the market without stopping, along a kind of pathway between two rows of tents. I was so occupied with trying to keep up with them while staring around at everything in sight that I didn't notice when they stopped and nearly walked right past. Jane grabbed my sleeve and pulled me back, and I saw that we were standing before a very wide staircase. I followed it up, but it seemed to disappear into the clouds. There was nothing visible at the top, and there was no one climbing up it.

I turned to stare in horror at my dad. He didn't expect us to _walk_ up that? He smiled at me and gestured at the stairway, inviting me to lead the way. Feeling thoroughly disgruntled, I placed a heavy foot onto the first step. I had placed myself carefully in the center of the staircase; it didn't have railings, and I didn't fancy getting blown over the edge when fifty feet up in the air.

But the minute my foot made contact with the step, there was a tug from somewhere behind my belly button, as if someone had tied a knot back there and was pulling steadily on the loose end. Shocked, I tried to jerk my foot off the step, but it was stuck there as if glued down.

Within a few seconds the tugging sensation stopped. I stumbled slightly and looked around dizzily. There was no staircase stretching upwards before me; in its place was a huge white building settled comfortably on a cloud. I turned around and saw the wide stairs disappearing toward the ground below.

"Portkey," dad said from just behind me. "A special kind of enchantment, so it doesn't wear off after one use. Very tricky to get just right." He smiled down at me, then led me into the Monticello-styled building before us.

The white structure that reminded me so much of the government buildings in Washington, D. C., turned out to be a bank. Inside it actually felt more like an airport, with long lines of people everywhere and security gates at the end of each one. The most noticeable difference was that the people manning the gates were short, burly men with long braided beards. The tallest one came up to my belly button, but they were all terrifyingly strong and fierce-looking nonetheless.

We got into one of the shorter lines, whose gate was labeled "Withdrawals Only" in large fluorescent letters. Perhaps the line was enchanted too, because it didn't seem to take all that long to get to the front. I peered closely at the security dwarf; his dark brown beard reached to his belt and was tucked in, but for two large chunks, which had been braided then tied together. His hair was the same color as his beard, and just as long. Some of it was hidden under a loose leathery cap that vaguely matched his belt and his boots, in a worn-out, battered sort of way. He wore a button-up shirt and black slacks under his deep red tunic; the effect was very odd, and I had to hold back giggles.

When we reached the front of the line, I could see a small black name plate on his chest, on which was written HERBERT in gold letters. I smiled at Herbert, but received no response from the stalwart dwarf. He turned to my dad; Jane and her father were in line behind us, as their money was in a different vault.

After glancing over us both, the burly little man waved us through the gate, which emitted two soft beeps, then nodded that we could continue. Dad led me along a wide, crowded hallway and down a left turn. My impression of an airport was immediately reinforced; there were numbers on glowing signs up near the ceiling, reading 400-450, and so on. We turned down the hallway just past that one, and I was now reminded of a fancy hotel. Large, brass doors lined the hallway, each equipped with a wheel much like those found on doors in submarines. Numbers were carved into each door and painted a shimmering gold that shone brightly despite the dim lighting.

We quickly found our vault—the second one on the left side of the hallway—and dad pulled out what looked like a coin, but with deliberate mistakes. Chunks had been taken out of the edges and one surface, in a completely random pattern. Dad placed the chipped side into a small circular cutout in the center of the wheel. When he took his hand away, the edges of the cutout seemed to melt and shift; suddenly they were completely and perfectly formed around the contours of the misshapen coin. I watched in wonder as the wheel turned itself a few times and the brass door swung out towards us.

My jaw dropped further as I spotted what was being safeguarded in that vault. A glittering pile of gold, silver, and copper coins sat in the middle of the plain cement floor, atop a shimmering circular rug. With a small smile, my dad entered the vault and calmly filled a leather bag with small stacks of the precious metal coins, then stepped back out and prepared to close the heavy door.

"Dad?" I said suddenly, stopping him. He glanced down at me.

"Yes?"

"Could I…do you think…could I maybe, y'know, go in there? Just for a bit?" He raised his eyebrows, then shrugged and stepped aside to let me in. I walked in with a feeling of entering a sacred chamber, and carefully moved closer to the glittering heap of coins before me. The gold looked so rich and yellow, shining in the light like that. It didn't occur to me to wonder where the light was coming from, though there were no bulbs in that vault. My eyes were drawn solely to the riches now filling my vision.

I couldn't resist taking a handful of gold coins and letting them cascade in a river from my hands. I imagined what my neighborhood friends would say if they could see me like this, all this gold in my possession, and smiled happily. _I was rich!_

"Dad, why didn't you tell me we had all that money?" I asked when we were back outside the bank, waiting at the steps for Jane and her father to join us.

"Well, I don't tell you how much money's in our bank account at home, do I?"

"No…but that's different."

"Is it? How so?"

"It—it just is," I said firmly. This was _gold_, not some computerized representation of real cash. "Can't you turn gold and stuff into dollars?" I asked after a moment.

"Of course you can. Right here, in fact—too risky to have people taking these coins to jewelers for melting down, the Muggles would start wondering where they came from. There's a place in that bank where you can get your money changed."

"Then why is all this money here?" I asked. "I mean, you never really come here, do you? Why not just make it all dollars—then we'd be rich!" I was suddenly very excited. Maybe dad just hadn't thought of that! Surely it was a great idea. By the end of the day, we'd be millionaires! Or however much money was in that vault. It certainly looked like a lot to me, but at eleven years old, a thousand dollars seemed like a fortune.

"Because it's for your education, of course," dad informed me with a laugh. "I've been saving it in Galleons and Sickles and all so I wouldn't have to get it changed back later. There is a small fee, you know."

"But what if I wasn't a witch after all?" After this exposure to such a huge gathering of magical people, I was growing much more used to the fact that I was among them.

"Then I would have had the money transferred to our other bank account and saved it for your college."

"Oh." I was severely disappointed. "We're not millionaires then?"

"Of course not, Ryann. Your grandmother—my mother—was quite well-off, but she was adamant that all the money she left us go toward your education, and Phoebe's." That sounded a very boring way to spend money, but at that moment Jane appeared at the doorway and I let the matter drop.

After a quick discussion, dad and Mr. Nelson agreed that we were old enough to manage the market on our own. We were instructed to be on our best behavior, and to meet with them in two hours at the foot of these stairs. By that time, we were to have all our school supplies purchased—I suppose this was their way of ensuring that we didn't have enough time to get into too much trouble.

Thrilled at our freedom and our heavy money bags, Jane and I set out into the crowded market. She'd never been there before either, but she'd heard plenty about it and knew better than I did where we needed to go. We found a kind of directory in the middle of an aisle between rows of tents, and stood over it trying to figure out where everything was.

It occurred to Jane after a few minutes of staring in pointless bewilderment at the confusing map that it was probably enchanted somehow, just like everything else here.

"What do you think it does?" I asked excitedly.

"Tells us where things are, obviously," she replied, rolling her eyes slightly. Then, with complete confidence, she politely asked the map where the apothecary was—we were both anxious to get to the weird, slimy things right away. Being thoroughly grossed out was a great pastime among us kids.

Before I could wonder aloud whether that would really work, the map began to move and change. It sort of zoomed in on one box, which had been highlighted in pink and was now labeled "Aspen Apothecary". A little red dot a few boxes away was labeled "You Are Here". I assumed it meant us, so Jane and I walked past the directory and a number of tents. To our left, just as the map had indicated, was the apothecary.

The tent itself was a cheerful yellow, and the sides were painted with aspen trees whose leaves really rustled in response to a passing breeze. A delightfully rustic wooden sign hanging from the awning was painted with an aspen as well, though the leaves on this one were stationary, accompanied by the words "Aspen Apothecary" in curly letters.

The woman inside the tent was as cheerful as her shop, and welcomed us with a large smile and a hearty greeting. This wasn't what I'd expected at all; why would this happy woman be selling pickled tentacles and intestine of newt? But she truly seemed to love her job, and was very knowledgeable as well. She got us our starter kits in moments, but we hung around talking with her for a long time afterward. When another customer appeared in the tent, she suggested we go to Stacey Spice's for our school robes, and told us how to get there.

I glanced at my supply list as we made our way through the crowds to the clothing shop. I didn't remember seeing robes on the list before, but there they were, at the very bottom. There was a note just below this, which read:

_Specific robes are mandatory at __Burnside__, and are available at any wizarding clothing shop in the Northwest. Non-regional students should contact __Professor__Belinda__Appleby__ for information on robes._

I looked up just as we reached the tent, which was a soft pink and glittered slightly in the sunlight. The awning was a patchwork of cloth swatches, ranging in color and texture from a dark green corduroy to a flaming orange silk. Sewn on were black letters made of felt, reading Stacey Spice's Clothes Shop. Jane led the way into the tent.

From the outside, Stacey's had looked about the size of all the tents in Pike's Place. But now I was in the shade of the patchwork awning, I could see that the shop was indeed much larger on the inside. Racks of clothing filled the space, stretching off in all directions. I was immediately overwhelmed, and wondered how we were supposed to find school uniforms in all of this.

Jane and I stepped forward to inspect the rack directly in front of us—it seemed like a good place to start, after all. It was crammed with soft sweatshirts in a range of colors. I wondered suddenly where Burnside would be, and how cold it was going to get there.

I mentioned this to Jane, who nodded. But as neither of us knew the answer to my question, we could do nothing but move on. Just as I was wondering if there was someone we could talk to, a young woman appeared at my side.

"Sorry for taking so long, I was with another customer," she said quickly. "I'm Stacey." I shook her hand and smiled, though I was rather surprised. This person looked to be no older than twenty, yet it seemed safe to assume she was the owner of the store.

"Don't worry about it," Jane said cheerfully as she shook Stacey's hand as well.

"New Burnside students?" Stacey guessed. I nodded, and she grinned. "I can always tell. It's the lost look you all have… Right this way, girls, I've got all you'll need for school."

Lost look? I couldn't help feeling slightly nettled as I followed Stacey through the mass of clothing, and past the occasional shopper. We finally came to a stop before a table with a number of black robes folded carefully on it. They all looked exactly alike, but Stacey pushed a few aside before picking one up and letting it unfold. It was very simple—long and straight, with sleeves that flared slightly from the elbow, a hood, and a silvery neck clasp.

"This should fit you perfect," Stacey said cheerfully, holding the robe up against me. "Yes. Go ahead and put it on while I pick one out for your friend."

I undid the neck clasp and pulled the robe on. It was surprisingly heavy, and when I redid the neck, the folds of fabric in the front completely covered the clothes I was wearing underneath. I took a few steps, but although the robes did not trip me, they didn't open to reveal what I was wearing, either.

"Nice, aren't they? That's why Burnside doesn't have uniforms, like some of the schools here do. These robes are special made so they stay closed like that, unless you need something from your pockets or something. Kinda wish I'd gone to Burnside, if just for the no uniforms thing. You shoulda seen what we had to wear at Elk Creek…" I looked quizzically at Jane, who shrugged and smiled politely at Stacey.

When we'd been equipped with a number of robes for everyday use, Stacey quickly listed off the essential clothes we'd need for school. Mostly warm clothing—long-sleeved shirts, sweaters, pants—with a good bit of cooler stuff for the spring semester.

"But you don't have to get all that now, realize," she assured us. "You won't want to bring most of your spring clothes with you this semester, it won't stay warm too long, and it rains most every day. And I'm sure you've got your own clothes at home you'll be wearing, it's just that some people come from Arizona or something and don't have enough warm clothes. Where are you two from, anyway?"

I let Jane chat with Stacey while I rummaged through the sweaters. I was in need of a new one, as I was growing so fast, but I didn't know about prices here and wasn't sure if I was wasting money or not. As exciting as all this was, it was also extremely complex, and I was growing increasingly nervous about leaving home for a whole semester. I couldn't escape the twisted feeling in my stomach, but all this talk about clothes and other permanent necessities wasn't helping my nerves.

When Stacey finally disappeared to talk to a new customer, I asked Jane about prices. She didn't know how to convert gold to green any better than I did, so we left the store with only our robes, resolving to ask our dads later.

Our next stop was the bookstore for all our textbooks. This was also a new concept to me—buying my own books—and made this school seem far too much like a college. Even high school students didn't have to buy their own texts! But when we reached SpellBound, the bookstore a few tents down from Stacey's, my fear quickly made way for excitement. The place was just what a bookstore should be—dry and comfortable, and slightly musty, with the smell of books strong in the air. The old man sitting comfortably by the entrance didn't jump up to help us, merely glancing up from his reading of a lengthy novel, but we didn't need anything from him anyway. He'd thoughtfully made a display of all the textbooks Burnside students would need, and had grouped them by year. Jane and I went straight to the Freshmen pile and grabbed one of each, then lugged them to a desk with a "Checkout" sign over it.

We'd spent a good deal of time in Stacey's, so we didn't stay to poke around in SpellBound but went straight on to buy the next items on our list. It took the better part of an hour to find the few remaining supplies, which included a cheap set of magical paints and brushes for beginning art, and enough quills and ink and parchment to last us the semester. When our lists were completely checked off and our money bags were depressingly lighter on our belts, Jane and I set off to meet our dads. They'd been adamant that we not buy our wands without them present, and that was the only item not crossed out on my list.

Jane and I arrived at the stairs a few minutes early, and plopped ourselves down on the grass to go through our purchases and imagine what Burnside would be like. Jane got a kick out of my wish to be picked up by a witch on a broomstick, and told me we were actually going to school by bus, just like normal.

Ten minutes later, we'd been picked up by our dads and taken off to the wand shop—the only one in the market, according to Mr. Nelson. This was slightly surprising, as there were at least six bookstores and twice as many clothing stores. If wands were so important, why not have more selection?

The tent was army green and had some leaves and burrs stuck to it, but not for decoration. There wasn't even a sign hanging from the sagging awning. The whole tent was rather worn and beaten, and looked as if it had just been transported quite suddenly from the depths of a forest or mountain pass. When we stepped inside, it occurred to me that the young man sitting inside had the same look.

He was sitting comfortably in a simple wooden chair, which he had kicked back onto two legs. His own legs were resting on the desk before him, and he was smoking some kind of cigarette that gave off blue smoke. When he saw us, he grinned widely and stood to shake our hands, letting the chair fall over behind him. I saw that he was young, probably in his late twenties, and had the lean, rugged look of a hiker or a mountain biker. An outdoor kind of guy. He was even wearing stereotypical hikers' garb—cargo shorts with frayed hems, a dark green shirt that looked older than I was, an unzipped vest with pockets all over it, and hiking boots over thick socks.

I kind of liked his stubbly chin and rugged appeal, and I could see I wasn't the only one. Jane was staring at him with her mouth open just a little, and when I nudged her, she turned bright red and looked at her feet.

Dad introduced us all, and the young man introduced himself as Carl White. He had a very white smile, and I had to stifle a giggle when I made the random connection.

"You girls looking to get your wands?" Carl asked cheerfully, rubbing his hands together in excitement. "Come on up here, I've got some fairly popular designs set out." He led us to a table piled with long, thin cardboard boxes. A few on top had been opened to display the wand inside, and I couldn't resist taking a peek. It was a dark, shiny black, long and thin, but slightly thicker at one end. There were small ridges carved into the thick end, for grip I supposed.

"Ah, that one." Seeing me looking at the wand, Carl had come to stand behind me. "Brand new, just finished testing it yesterday. Popular combination, that one—ebony and unicorn hair. A little longer than I usually make it, eleven inches. Give it a go, why don't you?" I stared up at him blankly.

"Um…what do you mean?" I finally muttered, my cheeks going red. Carl laughed heartily and picked up the wand by the ridged end.

"Of course, you're a Muggle-born! Or is it half?" He looked at my father, who nodded and smiled. "Well, then, which is your dominant hand?"

"My right," I said softly, even more embarrassed somehow than I had been before. Carl held out the wand.

"Take it, then, and just give it a wave. We'll know if it's yours." I was about to ask how, but decided that would be embarrassing and just did as he said. Feeling slightly foolish, I moved the wand around a bit, but nothing happened. Carl took it from me gently.

"Not your wand, then," he said cheerfully. I couldn't help but think it had been me, and not the wand, that wasn't right, but didn't say anything. I wasn't sure what he really expected me to _do_.

I waved wand after wand, while Jane and everyone else watched, but nothing happened with any of them. We went through all the most popular combinations to get them out of the way, then Carl started browsing the shelves behind his desk, looking for something specific. I had no idea what he was looking for, or how he might know what wand would "suit me," but I was much too flustered to ask. The knot in my stomach was back, and I couldn't help but wonder if it took everyone this long to find a wand. What if I wasn't magical after all, and I stood there all day trying wands until Carl kicked me out in a rage?

But to be truthful, Carl didn't seem the type to get angry. In fact, he was growing decidedly more gleeful as I returned each wand to him. Perhaps he liked a challenge.

After about ten minutes of trying wands—the longest ten minutes of my life—I stopped listening to what the wand was made of. Carl would hand me a wand, talking excitedly about its potential, and I would wave it listlessly before handing it back. It became routine, really.

Then he handed me one made of a reddish wood, with a zig-zag pattern in the ridges. The moment I touched it, a kind of delighted chill went up my spine and I shivered, suddenly awake again. I didn't need to look at Carl to know what to do; I raised the wand and brought it down in a fast arc. Bright blue sparks shot out from the end, and though they disappeared quickly, everyone applauded me. I beamed at my dad, then at Carl, who carefully took the wand from me and packed it up in its box. I sneaked a glance at the label, feeling suddenly guilty for not knowing what my wand was made of. Cherry wood, dragon beard hair, nine inches. I smiled and took the precious box from Carl, who was talking happily about his trip to China to gather the dragon hair.

"That wand's just excellent for transfiguration, Ms. Patterson," Carl informed me as I rejoined my dad by the door. I smiled, but had no idea what transfiguration was.

Carl got Jane trying wands right away. He'd put away everything I'd tried, so I couldn't tell if there were any repetitions, but it seemed inevitable that there would be, especially considering how many wands she tried. I'd thought it had taken me forever to find a wand, but twenty minutes later a very embarrassed Jane was still wandless.

Carl wasn't discouraged by this, but he did seem rather tired. He'd given up putting away all the wands, and the haphazard pile on his desk was growing steadily. After Jane tried ten more wands with no results, Carl frowned and stared at his desk, now sagging under the weight of all those wands.

"You said you were right-handed, Ms. Nelson?" Jane nodded. She looked close to tears, and I knew she was wondering if there was no wand for her, just as I had. "You write with your right hand?" She nodded again. "And throw with it, and catch with it, and eat with it?" Jane started to nod, then hesitated.

"I throw with my left," she whispered. Carl's face brightened suddenly, and he began to dig through the pile of wands on his desk, muttering to himself. He came up with a whitish wand and held it out to Jane.

"Birch, braided dragon heartstring, eight inches."

She took it with her left hand, having caught on to his train of thought, but still nothing happened when she waved it.

"No worries, no worries," Carl said cheerfully. He seemed to have gotten all his energy back, and dove into the pile of wands once more. This time he emerged with a dark brown, rather short wand.

"Walnut, unicorn hair, seven one-quarter inches." Jane took it from him, and her eyes grew very wide. "Aha!" Carl laughed when he saw the expression on her face. "Give it a wave, go on!" Jane made a long slash through the air, and sparkling white streaks followed the wand tip's path. She was beaming now, though her cheeks and nose were still red.

"Wonderful!" Carl exclaimed, taking the wand from her and replacing it in its box. "I haven't had that problem in a good many years, but of course it's always the obvious things that go wrong…" He handed Jane the box, now reminiscing happily about the time he went through every wand in his store for a boy before he realized he'd dropped one underneath his desk, and that was the right one. I wasn't sure whether to believe him or think he was exaggerating, but after Jane's performance it did seem to be a possibility.

When we left the wand shop, a tent across the way caught my eye. It was painted sky blue, and the sign hanging from the awning was decorated with cats, dogs, and snakes, all moving around on the letters. Amazing Creatures, it was simply called, but I liked the look of the colorful bird in its cage out front.

"Dad, can we go there?" I asked, tugging on his sleeve and pointing to the pet shop. He glanced at where I was pointing and made a face.

"Ryann, we really ought to be going if we want to get home before dark…"

"But I could get a pet to take with me to Burnside!" I pleaded. "They allow everyone to have a pet, and maybe then I wouldn't be so lonely." I knew I'd hit the perfect argument—my negative reaction to the fact that I'd be away from home so long was a major source of worry for my parents. My mom would be especially relieved if I put up less of a fuss about it; she tended to feel guilty about things out of her control.

Dad hesitated a long while, then shrugged.

"Wouldn't hurt to take a look, I suppose," he conceded, and we walked over to the pet shop. Jane and her dad were a few tents away, looking at something in a glass case, but Jane had a parakeet already and probably wouldn't be allowed to get a second pet. Besides that, she was only allowed to bring one to school.

The inside of the Amazing Creatures tent was as simple as its name, but the animals in cages along the walls were as amazing as they were implied to be, too. Some of the birds were beyond colorful—they had color-changing feathers. I saw one cockatoo-looking bird that seemed to be made of silver filigree. There were lizards and snakes in terrariums below the bird cages, and beneath those were the cat's cages. Dogs were in kennels on the other side of the tent, and a few well-behaved cats wandered around freely. A sign on the cashier's desk explained that these belonged to her and her husband, and were not for sale.

I glanced at the dogs first, but my dad shook his head.

"No good if you're taking it to school with you. How do you expect to play with a dog in your dorm room?" This made sense, and I didn't like dogs much anyway, so I turned to the other side of the tent to look around. My first impulse was to get a snake—they were just so cool, and there was an albino one at one end whose scales turned into rose quartz when they fell off… But that didn't seem like a very cuddly pet to have as a comfort object at school, so I scratched the reptiles. That left birds and cats—I refused to own a mouse or a rat, which were in cages near the cashier's desk.

I was sorely tempted to get a beautiful songbird with shining blue wings—it was guaranteed to deliver letters faithfully, and to sing beautifully when home—but then a cat in a cage on the floor caught my eye. I kneeled down to get a better look at it. Its fur was tiger-striped ginger and white, and it had yellow-green eyes and a darker orange tail. The cat raised its head and looked me in the eye, and I felt almost as if I'd found my wand all over again. I stood up to get my dad's attention, then pointed at the cage.

"Come look at this one, dad," I said excitedly. He came over and crouched next to me to peer into the cage.

"That's a nice-looking cat," he admitted.

"I want him," I said firmly. Forget the songbird; this was love.

Ten minutes later, I had a cat carrier cradled in my arms, with the ginger cat inside. Jane was ecstatic, and had to be reminded rather forcibly of her own parakeet at home to keep her from entering the pet store and finding a new friend of her own. I knew she felt guilty for wanting to replace Cheeky, because she turned pink and said she'd only wanted a friend for him, anyway, and if her dad wanted to let Cheeky be bored and lonely all the time, that was his decision and there was nothing she could do about it. And she wouldn't hear anything about it after that.

It was getting late, and we had to be going home. The many excitements of the day left me feeling so tired that I nearly dropped the cat carrier on the walk back up the hill. I was terribly glad to reach the car again and be able to sit down, with the cat carrier between me and Jane in the back seat, and just think about the day. I fell asleep before we'd gotten back on the highway.

------

"I'm naming him Quiz," I announced at breakfast the next morning. My long nap in the car had enabled me to stay awake in bed long enough to think up a good name for my new cat, who had been sleeping on my chair at the time. 

"That's an odd name," Phoebe commented. She was back from her friend's house, where she'd spent the better part of the last three days.

"I don't think so," I replied stiffly. "It's from a book. A _witch_ has a cat named Quiz, and I thought it was appropriate." Apparently this was the wrong thing to say to Phoebe, who had just been told yesterday that I was a witch and would be going to Burnside. Even though she hadn't gotten her letter, my parents had explained about magic to her after she saw dad using it to clean the kitchen. He never really used it around the house after that, just in case I saw him, but now that everything was out in the open, it became a common thing to see him sitting lazily in a chair at the kitchen table, reading the newspaper and flicking his wand at the sink, where dishes merrily cleaned themselves. Mom found this a great relief, that she could dump the tedious work on him and it would get done so much faster, so now dad was overloaded with little chores.

"It's a fine name," dad assured me, but Phoebe was glaring daggers at me across the table, and I knew I'd gone a bit too far. I had to admit, I'd be jealous of her if our roles were switched.

Quiz had taken to domestic life very well. He was already two years old, and had obviously been raised in a family. I was very pleased that he took especially to me, but I suspect that was due mainly to the fact that I was his source of food and water, and that his litter box was in my room, and that he slept on my chair. He only ever saw the rest of the family during breakfast, when he would laze comfortably on the kitchen counter and watch us eat. The rest of the day he was outside chasing things or sleeping on my chair. At night he began creating a routine hunt of the neighborhood, and I wondered how he'd take to dormitory life. It actually made me hope for a ground floor room, so I could be sure to let him out the window at night.

------

Life during my last two months at home was centered entirely around my going to Burnside in September. Phoebe never quite got over her jealousy, and spent a lot of time away from home, but even mom was excited in her way about my learning magic. She still acted disapproving, but I could tell she half wished she were going to Burnside, too.

Dad was just ecstatic that he had someone to pass down all his knowledge to. I wasn't too excited about reading some of the basic things from my textbooks before school started, but he assured me it was important to have the basics down flat, and anyway it was a lot more fun learning the boring stuff when my dad was quizzing me over dinner, interrupting every few minutes with memories from his years at Burnside. He even let me go through his photo albums and his senior yearbook while he was at work, and I never quite got over my fascination of the moving pictures. They seemed to be doing something different every time I looked, except the boring photos of people waving. It was also fun to look at all the professors and wonder who'd still be teaching there, and what he or she would be like now. The transfiguration teacher looked particularly fun; he was wearing a Hawaiian shirt under his robes in his staff photo, and his silly grin was contagious even through the picture.

------

The night of September fifth, I could not sleep at all. I went to bed at nine on my dad's orders, but lay awake until long past midnight thinking about the next day. I must have finally drifted off, because when a screeching of brakes jerked me awake, it was morning. 

I quickly came to my senses, and my stomach dropped to my feet. Those brakes must have been the bus Jane had mentioned! My ride was here and I was still in bed!

I jumped out of bed and hurled myself out of my pajamas and into the clothes I'd nervously laid out for myself the night before. My heart was racing, and I wanted to scream at the driver to stop—

Bacon was sizzling downstairs, a special last breakfast at home for me, but I didn't have time to eat it. I raced through the kitchen yelling "DAD!" at the top of my lungs, and flung open the front door.

The street was empty. There was no bus waiting outside my door. My whole body seemed to hurt suddenly from the cold dread in my belly. _I'd missed the bus_. How was I going to get to school now?

But when I turned around, tears already welling in my eyes, my dad was standing there in his pajamas, rubbing his eyes and looking like he, too, had just gotten up.

"What are you yelling about?" he asked sleepily, glaring down at me. "It's six in the morning!"

"Dad, I—" Six in the morning? I stopped and frowned. Of course. I couldn't have missed the bus. I'd set an alarm for six-thirty, because the bus wasn't coming until eight-thirty, and that would be plenty of time to get ready. Everything was already packed, all I really needed to do was shower, dress, eat, and leave. How could I have forgotten all this?

"Sorry," I mumbled, walking past my dad and back upstairs for an extra half-hour of sleep. I obviously needed it.


	3. Chapter Three

This one's really short compared to the other two, but it seems fitting to end it where I did. Enjoy :)

------

Without so much as a squeal of brakes, the long silver bullet-shaped bus pulled up in front of my house. I watched it from the kitchen window, through which I'd been staring anxiously at the street for the past few minutes, then yelled "It's here!" over my shoulder before running to grab my suitcases from the hall. Jane and her dad had come to my house for breakfast—Jane's dad had taken the morning off from work, and my mom was making a special meal for her daughter's last day home. As I ran past the kitchen table where everyone else sat, Jane jumped up and followed me.

There was a knock on the door as I grabbed my bags: a suitcase, duffel bag, and a backpack for the bus ride. The suitcase was heavy, but I managed to drag it to the front door, with Jane right behind me lugging her own belongings.

Both my parents and Jane's dad were at the front door, now accompanied by a formally-dressed man holding a roll of parchment. Looking sternly at Jane and me, he unfurled the parchment and cleared his throat importantly.

"Madams Patterson and Nelson?" he called loudly. Jane and I stepped forward. "On this morning the sixth of September, 1999, Madams Patterson and Nelson are to be collected by the Slipstream Air Bus of Burnside Academy of Magical Instruction, to be delivered to said academy by this same evening for the commencement of their education in the theories and practices of magic." He paused, then seemed to deflate slightly.

"Oh, honestly, do either of you two care?" he asked in a considerably more natural voice. "You're going to school, and this is how you're getting there. I'll take your bags if you like—" He rolled up the parchment, stuck it in his belt, and pulled a wand from inside his suit. "Wingardium leviosa," he muttered, giving the wand a little flick, and our bags hovered slightly above the ground. He flicked the wand toward the bus, and the suitcases went flying into the underside compartment of the bus.

"Now, if you'll just hop on the bus, we'll be going." He glanced past us towards our parents, gave a little nod, and climbed into the bus himself.

Mom had lost some of her airiness this morning, and was looking at me with shining eyes. Obviously, she hadn't expected for her daughter to be leaving her so soon, but she wasn't the type to go hysterical on me, for which I was glad. I was already on the verge of tears myself, even though I was terribly excited about leaving, and I didn't think I could handle anyone else being sad.

We'd already said most everything over breakfast, so I hugged my mom tightly and said I'd call the minute I got there. My dad was beaming and nearly crushed me when he hugged me goodbye. He'd been reminiscing about Burnside a lot lately, and he obviously expected I would have a wonderful time.

Then I was standing before the bus with Jane, staring up into it where the driver was sitting impatiently. We turned towards each other, grinning from ear to ear, and both of us gave a little squeal of excitement. After all this waiting, we were finally off!

Just as I was following Jane onto the bus, though, there were flapping footsteps behind me, and someone shouted, "Wait!" I turned around just in time to see my sister Phoebe running towards me in her bathrobe and slippers, arms outstretched. She caught me in a tight hug that lifted me off the ground.

"Phoebe!" I said indignantly, but I was laughing.

"Have a good time, sis," she said, still hugging me.

"I will," I promised her. She let me down, and I was a little surprised to see that she was crying. "I'm not going to be gone that long!"

"I know, I just wish I were going with you. You have to tell me everything, okay?" I promised I would, and she waved goodbye as I stepped onto the bus at long last.

The doors slid silently shut behind me as a drew level with the bus driver. He gave me a smile and a wink, and I turned to find Jane.

The bus was unlike any school bus I'd ever seen, much less ridden in. Despite its average length from the outside, on the inside it was much longer, though about the same width. Instead of the usual brown bench seats, this bus had individual swivel-chairs in pairs along each side. The bus was nearly full with chattering students of all ages, but I quickly found Jane near the front of the bus and took the chair next to hers.

"This is so cool!" I shrieked as I spun my chair around, my legs in the air. Jane laughed at me, her face a blur in my spinning vision. I brought my feet down and stopped the chair so I was facing her, but it took a minute for my eyes to see clearly again.

"How is the bus so long?" I asked over the soft purring of the motor as the bus picked up speed. "It'll never get around corners." I remembered how much shorter the bus looked from the outside, and wondered if that was the answer.

"Oh, there are no corners to get around the way we're going," Jane said mysteriously. She laughed at the look on my face and pointed out the window. "Look!"

I got up from my chair to stare out the window and saw houses flashing by at an alarming speed. Then they seemed to be dropping away, as if…

"We're flying!" I yelled, and a few people nearby laughed.

"Of course we are, dumb butt," a boy about my age said with a condescending snort. "It's magic, duh?" I glared at him.

"Well, excuse me if I haven't seen a lot of magic before. I suppose you're one of those from a magical family?"

"And I suppose you're not?" he retorted. "In fact, I am from a purely Muggle family. I was the first in all my relations to have any trace of magic."

"Then how do you know so much?" Jane asked not very politely. She was looking at him with a slightly disgusted expression.

"I _read_, of course," he replied, as if this were the most obvious thing in the world. "There's a veritable wealth of books for Muggle-borns like us," he directed at me. "I could lend you a few if you want to brush up on the magical world a bit. You look like you need to." I glared at him, all the angrier because I was worried he might be right. How much was I expected to know once I got to Burnside? Should I have caught myself up to people like Jane, who were brought up knowing at least a _little_ about magic?

"No thanks," I said anyway. As worried as I suddenly was, I didn't feel like borrowing anything from this snotty kid.

"Suit yourself," he said with a kind of sympathetic shrug, as if he knew what was in store for me. "What's your names, anyway?"

"Ryann," I said simply. "And that's Jane."

"I'm Alexander," he said cordially, and Jane and I both had to stifle laughs. How fitting! "I go by Alex," he added with a frown, sounding a little annoyed. Just then a boy sitting across the aisle leaned over to talk to us, saving me from having to apologize when I really didn't feel like it.

"We doing introductions?" he said genially, taking in all three of us with one glance. "I'm Kevin." He held out his hand and looked me in the eye as I shook it, and suddenly I couldn't speak. I was painfully aware that my mouth was open, but even after I snapped it shut I couldn't stop staring. With his wide smile, light brown hair, and bright blue eyes, he was so…

"So hot!" Jane whispered when Kevin was hailed by someone behind him. Her brown eyes were as wide as my own must have been, and she was grinning widely. "Did you see the way he looked at you?"

"What're you talking about?" I felt my face go red, and an excited giggle threatened to burst from my throat. But just then Kevin turned back to talk to us, so I had to make a great effort to control myself and calm down. Jane wasn't helping, giggling softly behind her hand.

"So, you guys new this year?" Kevin asked, still smiling. I hardly heard his question; I was too busy deciding whether his eyes were more of a cerulean or an indigo.

"Yeah, are you?" Jane replied when she saw I wasn't going to. Alex was looking slightly put out at this new arrival who'd taken attention away from him, and was glaring at us in a disgruntled way.

"Nah, I'm a rising freshman."

"What does that mean?" I found my voice, choosing to stare at his forehead instead of his eyes.

"Second year. You're called freshman, next year you'll be rising freshman. Then sophomores, rising, juniors, rising, then seniors—then you graduate." I frowned; I'd never heard of the term "rising" before. "Don't ask me who came up with that," Kevin said with a laugh when he saw the look on my face. Why was I blushing again? Would he notice? Of course he would… Feeling absolutely mortified, I sat back in my chair in hopes that my face might go into shadow or something.

"You have been at Burnside Academy for a year already, then," Alex addressed Kevin for the first time. "Is there anything you could tell us about it?" Kevin shrugged, thankfully looking at Alex now.

"What d'you want to know?" I lost track of the conversation as Alex peppered Kevin with questions about Burnside; I didn't really care at the moment, and memorizing Kevin's profile was somehow much more engaging. Jane was staring at him too, and every once in a while we'd exchange a glance and had to stifle giggles.

After a few minutes the guy sitting next to Kevin got up from his chair and moved to one closer to us. He looked like he'd just woken up from a nap, and was rubbing at a crick in his neck.

"What's up, Kev? What time is it?" he asked hoarsely, clearing his throat. Kevin glanced at his watch; it was nine-thirty. We were scheduled to arrive at the school around four; it was going to be a long drive. Well, flight.

"Where is Burnside?" I wondered aloud. "It must be pretty far away if it takes this long to fly there."

"Actually, we're not flying nearly as fast as Muggle airplanes do," Alex informed me. "Only about the speed of a car on a highway—that is to say, roughly sixty miles per hour. Besides, we have to stop to pick up passengers along the way. Thus it will take rather a long time to go a relatively small distance."

"A mile a minute isn't exactly slow," Jane muttered.

"What's an airplane?" Kevin's friend asked interestedly. "I hear talk about them once in a while, but I've never seen one." Alex launched into a lengthy discussion about airplanes, including random trivia about some of the first models and how things had improved since the Wright brothers' first flight. I could see the other boy's eyes glazing over, but he was polite enough to just nod and look like he was listening.

By the time Alex was done talking, we'd attracted two more listeners, both girls. They sat as close to the group as possible while still remaining separated, and sat close together and whispered a lot. Occasionally they would burst into giggles, and it was one of these laughing fits that first brought them to my attention. Bored with Alex's talk, I watched them instead, and though I was staring openly, they didn't seem to notice or mind.

They were acting like sisters, but looked nothing alike. One girl had dark brown hair, a round tanned face, and brown eyes. She was slightly overweight, but had a cute face and a dimpled smile. Her friend was of a lighter complexion, with golden blonde hair. There was a smattering of freckles across her nose and beneath her light eyes—I couldn't tell from my seat exactly what color they were. She was very skinny and bony, and her small face was perched on a long, elegant neck. In contrast with her friend's chin-length hair, this girl wore her golden locks past her shoulders, and though her hair was frizzy and unkempt now, it was still pretty.

When Alex stopped talking, Kevin's friend turned to these girls to invite them into the conversation; he looked glad to have an excuse to talk to someone else. There was another round of introductions; Kevin's friend was named Connor, the dark-haired girl was Melanie, and the other girl was Emily.

"Are you just starting too?" Jane asked quickly. They looked about our age, and it would be nice to meet some of our classmates early.

"Yeah, but I have a sister who's a rising sophomore this year," Emily replied with a proud smile. "She's told me _all_ about Burnside." Melanie nodded vigorously to show that she knew everything about the school too. To Kevin and Connor, Emily asked, "What dorm are you two staying in? I'm hoping to be in Zephyr, that's the best one by far." Melanie nodded her agreement again.

"Dorms?" I couldn't help but asking. I immediately regretted it as everyone turned to stare at me. How was I the only one who didn't know what was going on??

"Y'know, where you sleep?" Kevin said a little sarcastically. Everyone laughed and I felt my face get very hot. "There's five of them at the school," he continued, more sincerely this time. "You can be in Zephyr—that's where I am," he added for Emily's benefit, "Donovan, Bryant, Hewitt, or Lavada. They're all different, and you go wherever you fit in." I longed to ask how you were supposed to know which one was best, but didn't dare risk embarrassing myself again. Instead I muttered that I remembered reading about that, and avoided looking at Emily, who was still laughing silently at me.

After that, I resolved to stay quiet unless I had something good to say. No one seemed to notice, so I contented myself with sneaking glances at Kevin. I told myself over and over that he hadn't meant to be rude, and anyway, he'd made up for it afterward.

Once the subject of school had been exhausted, Connor brought out a large deck of cards from his pants pocket.

"Wanna play Exploding Snap?" he asked the group at large, holding out the cards. "I got these from my cousin in England, the game's real big over there." Only Kevin had ever heard of it, and that was through Connor, so they explained the game to us while the cards were being dealt out. There were seven of us, and the game called for an even number of players, so Kevin wandered off to find someone to join us while Connor dealt out an extra hand.

The game was a little like BS, but not very. Players were supposed to try to trick each other into making their hand explode; this made me nervous, as I wondered how much it would hurt. But Connor spoke lightly of the exploding cards, so I decided to trust him and concentrate on playing the game.

Kevin came back with a girl who looked remarkably like him; they had the same hair and eyes, and shared a rather large nose that was endearing on Kevin but a little strange on his sister.

"This is my sister Paige," he told us as they each took a seat. "She's a sophomore this year." Paige already knew how to play Exploding Snap, so we got started right away.

The game moved pretty quickly, and was actually a lot of fun. The explosions were startling and loud, but not very painful. We played three games before Connor's cards were too charred to read properly. He put them back in their battered box just as the bus pulled to a stop outside a large white house, where three kids of varying ages were waiting with their bags. I hadn't been paying attention to the bus stops while we were playing, but now I watched curiously as the three kids waved to their parents and got on the bus. They must have been siblings, because only two parents stood outside with them to see them off.

By this time we were nearing our final destination, and the bus was nearly full. I was sure a magical bus would have enough seats for all its intended passengers, but perhaps there were only just enough. The three newcomers stood at the front of the bus for a long time, staring around at the crowded bus, before finally sitting in three seats right behind the driver; probably the only three seats that were together. Though I watched them out of the corner of my eye, they didn't strike up conversation, whether with each other or anyone else.

All three had dark, shiny black hair, and very dark brown eyes. They were Asian, but I had no idea how to tell the difference between people from China or Japan, much less the other countries in that region, so I didn't know exactly what origin. The two older girls were very pretty and slender, but their younger brother was still very short, and thus a little chubbier than they. While his sisters sat stonily facing the front of the bus, the boy looked around in silence. Once I caught his eye and smiled at him, but he looked quickly away.

Theirs turned out to be the last stop; it was getting late, and now that we were on the final stretch to Burnside, the driver sped up a little. Talk in our group had turned to an excited discussion on something called Quidditch, and not wanting to seem stupid again, I listened carefully without saying anything myself.

I gathered it was some kind of game, and that Kevin and Connor liked it a lot. They were hoping to try out for the team this year, and Kevin's sister was giving them advice on which team to go for based on their skills. It seemed there were four teams in the school, and they played each other for the privilege to go up against a team from Elk Creek, the wizard school on the east coast, and a team from Harvey Lee, which I gathered was another school.

At ten minutes to four the noise level in the bus was getting steadily louder as people began crowding the windows, hoping for a first glimpse of the school. I squeezed between two people to get a look, but we were still in the clouds and all was just white. Then we dipped lower, and someone in the back of the bus let out an excited yell.

"There it is! You see it, the red and green patch down there?" she said loudly to no one in particular. I strained my eyes, searching the earth below for a patch of red or green… I let out a little squeal and jumped excitedly when I saw it, about the same time as most of the bus did. The campus had to be huge, I realized, for us to see it so well from this height. Indeed, as we circled lower toward the school, I was amazed at the size of it. Out in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by mountains and forests and valleys and farmland, was a sizeable collection of different-sized buildings. Most of them were red, and probably made of brick, but here and there the sunlight glinted off the windows of a white or gray building, and I thought I saw one made of wood as we drew even closer to the ground.

Then there was a soft bump, and the bus was on the ground.


	4. Chapter Four

Surprise, surprise, I screwed up the ages. Ryann should have been eleven when starting freshman year (equivalent of sixth grade). I'm going to have to go back and change that, but for anyone who has already read the first three chapters, I'm telling you now: Ryann isn't twelve, she's eleven. I'm sorry about that. I'm really terrible about ages during school because I'm young for my grade and I always get screwed up… So if I'm wrong again, and was right before, or whatever, please please PLEASE tell me! I would be very grateful. (Her birthday is in May, so as I see it she would be eleven when going to Burnside, and would turn twelve while there. Does that sound right??)

------

We poured out of the bus and onto the soft grass where it had touched down, hundreds of students quickly trampling the bright green blades. I still had my backpack with me, though I'd barely touched it throughout the whole bus ride, except when I was hungry. Everyone just seemed to be standing around waiting for something, so I stood very close to Jane and stared with wide eyes at anything and everything nearby.

The only part of the school I could see from the lawn was a large brick building directly behind me. The silvery bus and the crowd of students blocked everything else from sight. I studied the building, trying to memorize it in case I had to find it later, but it was pretty nondescript. Just a three-story brick building, basically rectangular with a few extra corners and some chunks taken out of it. The lawn we stood on now stretched all the way to this building's doors, uninterrupted but for a narrow footpath cutting diagonally across it.

I turned back to the bus in time to see the driver stepping down from his seat. He stood on the bottom step so he was just a bit higher than the students, and called for attention.

"Students, listen here!" he yelled hoarsely. "Come, now, pay attention. We've arrived at Burnside. In a few moments you will be collected and taken into the dining hall for your welcome feast. Freshmen, listen up!" I was all ears. "You will stay here until the other students have gone, and will be delivered to the dining hall separately." I looked at Jane nervously; he made it sound as if we had to make some sort of entrance. I didn't like entrances. At least, at the moment I didn't.

The driver disappeared into his bus again, and everyone started talking at once. I turned to Jane nervously.

"Why are we going in separate?" I whispered, but Jane only shrugged, her eyes wide. Apparently this was something her dad hadn't told her about.

"Nervous?" I turned around. It was Kevin, standing behind us with a rather smug smile on his face.

"Of course not," I said, quickly composing my worried face. "Why should I be?" Kevin shrugged, smiling slightly.

"Well, y'know, coming in separate and all. Hope you can think on your feet, is all." And with that he walked away, smirking.

Despite my sudden upsurge of nervousness, I had to swoon into Jane, who was giggling again.

"He is _so hot_," I muttered, and we both burst into giggles. But once my adrenaline rush had subsided, all that was left were nerves. By the time two professors arrived, dressed in the same black robes we were, to take away the students, I was shaking at the knees again. Luckily, Kevin didn't see me, but walked right past, talking animatedly with Connor and another boy. I watched them go with a little sigh of happiness, but nerves quickly took over again as one of the teachers moved closer to the remaining students. He was a very tall, athletic-looking man, and very forbidding to a bunch of twelve-year-olds.

"Come with me," he said in a deep voice, and turned toward the brick building I'd seen earlier. The other students had gone the other way, around the bus where they were hidden from view. I could still hear their footsteps and chatter getting farther away as we parted from them, moving as one scared clump toward the brick building.

The professor turned back to face us at the entrance.

"My name is Professor Plodkowski," he told us seriously, and no one dared giggle. I had a sudden unhappy feeling that he was one of those people who _hated_ having his name mispronounced or misspelled. My heart sank to my toes sickeningly fast, for I had already forgotten it.

"Some of you have undoubtedly been informed of what we are about to do here, whether by parents, older siblings, or friends. However, for those of you who are less up-to-date, I will explain." Was it my imagination, or did he seem greatly disgruntled about this? I wondered again if I was supposed to know all this by now.

"When we enter this building—which contains the potions laboratories and the Muggle Relations department, something you would do well to remember—you will follow me in single file along the hallway. There will be no talking, whispering, giggling, running, stepping out of line, slowing down, stopping, whining, or getting lost." He glared around at us as if to be sure we had memorized all these things, then gave a curt nod and continued. "I am taking you to my own office on the top floor. You would do well to treat it with respect, meaning you will touch nothing, look at nothing, and say nothing in regards to my office or myself. Understood?" We all nodded in unison, unconsciously bunching closer together as the professor fixed us with another scowl.

"Follow me, then," he said almost quietly, and turned and walked through the door.

I was inclined to stay where I was, comfortable in the warm sun and fresh air, but a few boys at the front of the group pushed each other forward until they were following single file behind the professor. When they scurried away, the rest of us were quick to follow. Jane managed to shove me before her, for which I was very ungrateful, but I didn't dare waste time arguing with her. I hurried after my classmates-to-be and into the brick building.

It was as plain on the inside as on the outside, with its clean white walls and scuffed tile floors. There were bulletin boards on every wall, some with a few brightly colored papers pinned onto them, but I didn't dare turn my head to study them. Remembering all of the professors rules, I kept my eyes straight ahead and only observed things that crept into my peripheral vision.

We followed the professor up a flight of stairs that doubled back on itself, so that it took up less space in the building but seemed even longer than it really was. No one complained, but I could hear Jane huffing slightly behind me.

The professor's office was right in the middle of the second floor hallway. A sign on the door read "Professor Plodkowski, Professor and Head, Muggle Relations Department." I quickly memorized how to spell his name, though I couldn't figure out how to pronounce it while focusing on _not_ focusing my eyes on anything in the room. I stared at the hair of the boy in front of me; he had shaggy blond locks growing just past his ears, and I couldn't tell if his hair looked dirty because of the color or because it really was.

The professor's office was very large; we were all able to fit inside it by squishing our line and making it curve slightly along the wall. Professor Plodkowski closed the door as we shuffled into place, then strode to his desk and picked up a large black box, made of some velvety material. It was kind of like a jewelry box, but the size of a textbook. He shifted it to balance in his right hand, and with his left picked up a long roll of parchment.

"When I call out your name, you will walk forward to stand before my desk. You will put on this necklace, being _extremely_ careful with it, and wait patiently to be placed in your dormitory. When you are finished, you will quietly exit the room, closing the door behind you, and form a line along the wall outside." My knees began to shake, try as I might to keep them still; I could see myself walking forward to receive the necklace, which in my mind was very valuable and encrusted with the rarest of jewels, and dropping it on the floor or breaking the clasp or any manner of terrible things. My face burned with embarrassment, though I'd obviously done none of these yet. I was convinced something terrible would happen, and Professor Plodkowski's stern manner was not helping to assuage my fears.

The professor shook the parchment open; it rolled out and stayed that way, probably aided by some magic to keep it from curling up again. He held it out before him and called out, "Apple, Melanie." Looking absolutely terrified at having been called first, the brown-haired girl I'd met on the bus walked forward from the back of the line. Her hands were shaking visibly at her sides, but she didn't stumble and she met Professor Plodkowski's eyes as he followed her silent progress across the room.

Melanie stopped in front of the professor's desk, directly across from him, and waited to be told what to do next. The necklace was still in its box, and I don't think anyone in that room would have been brash enough to reach for it.

But the professor made no move to open the box or offer it to Melanie. She stared at him, her hands now clasped before her, waiting patiently and fearfully for something to happen.

With a sudden snap that made everyone jump (excluding the imperturbable professor, of course), the jewelry box opened itself, like a clam displaying its pearl. But from what I could see, this pearl was a bit of a dud. There were no jewels on the necklace; it was just a heavy chain made of large, brass-colored links. Remembering the hundreds of stories I'd read about hidden appearances, I decided not to write the necklace off just yet, and waited to see what it could do.

Melanie had stumbled backwards a few feet at the sudden revealing of the necklace, and was staring at the velvety box with undisguised fear. The professor's mouth twitched into an ironic smile, and he moved the box forward slightly, offering the necklace to Melanie. She reached out a shaking hand and picked up the chain by its clasp, holding it between two fingers and at arm's length. It swung evenly from her fingers, catching the light dully on its brassy surface.

Looking as if she'd rather be doing anything else, Melanie slipped the necklace over her head; it was easily large enough to slip around her slightly protruding ears. She settled it gently around her neck and waited, staring at the links with rather wide eyes.

I had no idea what she was waiting for, but after a few minutes she removed the necklace. The links were glowing faintly red as she replaced it carefully in the jewelry box.

"Bryant it is, then," Professor Plodkowski said dubiously, looking her up and down. He turned to his list of names and Melanie, taking her cue, hurried out of the office. She shut the door behind her with a dull clunk, and I wished very strongly to be out there with her, away from this terrifying business with the necklace.

For I had thought I'd be enlightened somehow about the workings of the necklace, after I'd seen it used. But watching Melanie stare blankly at it for a few minutes had told me nothing. Was I supposed to project my thoughts at it? Should I have in mind which dorm I wanted to stay in? I didn't know anything about the separate dorms; Melanie's being placed in Bryant told me nothing. Rather than being reassured about this process, I was horribly confused and much more nervous than before. Why didn't that blasted Plodkowski explain anything? What were we supposed to _do_?

"Chau, Michael," the professor called as soon as the door was shut. The small Asian boy I'd seen on the bus stepped forward quietly. He didn't seem to be nervous at all, and took the chain from its box with both hands. He slipped it over his head and placed it carefully so that it wouldn't slip off his skinny shoulders. He stared straight at Professor Plodkowski for a few seconds, then removed the necklace and replaced it. The links were glowing brightly blue now.

"Lavada," said the professor. "Lovely." I was sure he was being sarcastic, but Michael didn't seem to notice and simply left the room quietly. The professor called "Connolly, Riley," and a girl I hadn't seen before tried on the necklace. She was placed in Bryant, and left the room with a huge smile on her face.

"Donahue, Emily," the professor called. The smug girl from the bus walked forward and took the chain, placing it around her neck with an excited expression on her face. After almost a minute, she took it off and replaced it in the velvet box. The links now matched the black velvet, though they shone prettily in the light.

"Donovan. Excellent." The professor's voice was flat, but he didn't seem disapproving this time, and watched Emily leave with a blank, rather than judging, face.

I was fully terrified now. Three people in a row had put the necklace on, then, without warning and after no set time limit, taken it off. I had watched carefully, and ascertained that the links did not glow until the necklace was replaced in its box. _So how did they know?_

Professor Plodkowski continued down his list, but I had stopped listening. I watched each person carefully, but could infer nothing from their faces or their actions. I realized about the time of "Lawrence, Matthew" that I would have to figure this out for myself.

"Nelson, Jane" jarred me from my thoughts. I watched her go with more fear and apprehension than I'd felt at all previously. Jane walked quickly up to the desk and snatched the necklace from its box, as if to prove she wasn't scared in the least. Her face passive, she dropped the chain over her head and waited patiently—for _what_? I had to wonder again—before removing it and replacing it on its velvet cushion. The links were blue again; Lavada.

Jane threw me an almost triumphant glance as she slipped through the line and left the office. I tried to take courage from her easy manner, but could not. The possibility that I would stand there looking like an idiot for hours on end, waiting for some sign and hoping I wouldn't miss it…

"Patterson, Marietta." I stared at the professor in shock. There were no "O's" starting this year? I hadn't expected to be called on this soon. But as my feet moved automatically toward the desk, I felt my fear slipping away through my footsteps. Now that the waiting was over, I was no longer scared. Dealing with things as they came was always easier for me than agonizing over them beforehand.

I reached out and slipped my fingers around the cool metal chain. It wasn't warm at all, even though many people had worn it before me. I slipped it over my head, only the slightest knot of fear in the pit of my stomach as I waited for something to happen.

As soon as I took my hands off the chain, there was a kind of vibration from the necklace. I would have been startled, but somehow I'd known it was coming. It was rather comforting and familiar as it changed in frequency and pitch. After a moment, it slowed to a steady beating, matching the pace of my heartbeats, and then it stopped.

I carefully lifted the necklace over my head and replaced it in its box. The actions of those who'd gone before me were no longer mysterious; everything seemed to make sense now. I watched the links for the discerning color, though I felt I already knew what it would be.

"Bryant," the professor announced when the links turned red. "Good." Ignoring the lack of enthusiasm in his voice, I turned and left the room.

------

"To our new students, I extend open arms and wish you the happiest of times at this excellent academy!" There was politely loud applause as the school president finished her lengthy, formal speech and sat down at her place at the head of the long staff table. It was situated on a kind of raised stage at one end of the long commons room, and looked entirely temporary. I wondered excitedly whether the stage was used for performances; ever since I'd snagged a large part in a revised version of "Romeo and Juliet" in grade school, I'd been interested in trying out acting again. 

"What a hag," someone said sarcastically nearby. I looked up to see who had spoken; it was a freshman boy I hadn't met yet. He must have tried the necklace on after I had, because I didn't recognize him at all.

"Excuse me, but that's our president you're talking about," a girl sitting next to him said nastily. She looked to be much older than a freshman; probably fifteen or sixteen, though I wasn't too good at guessing ages.

"Um, so?" the boy retorted, looking the girl up and down with arrogant disapproval all over his face. "Does that make her a god or something?"

"Goddess," I corrected automatically. I said it quietly, but the boy heard me anyway.

"_What_ did you say?" he asked loudly. We were attracting the attention of a few other Bryant students now; for the welcoming feast, the six tables had been draped in tablecloths of dormitory colors, and students were expected to eat at their own table. This was an attempt to force the older students to welcome the newbies, but everyone was grouped with friends among the tables anyway, so it didn't seem to be working too well. I was feeling slightly lonely; Jane wasn't in Bryant, and so was eating at the table across the room from mine. The food was good, but I wasn't really enjoying it.

"She didn't say anything, leave her alone," the older girl cut in angrily. I could see she didn't like this kid already, and I was very much with her in that opinion.

"I wasn't talking to _you_," the boy snarled, turning back to face her again.

"Hey, what's going on here?" said a voice from behind me. I turned quickly in my seat to see a very tall, tough-looking guy with a trim goatee and longish brown hair standing behind me. He was looking over my head at the two arguing students.

"Who are _you_?" the boy asked sharply, surveying this newcomer with open dislike.

"I'm an RA for Bryant, so you'd better treat me with a little respect," he replied, glaring at the freshman.

"I don't even know what that _is_, so it means nothing to me."

"It stands for Resident Assistant," the girl cut in again. "It means he's the one who'll be helping you out if you have problems with your dorm room or your roommates."

"And if you _happen_ to get locked out of your dorm tonight, I don't know if I'll be in the mood to get up and help you out," the RA said nonchalantly. I had to hide a giggle behind my hand. If anyone deserved to be the butt of a joke like that, this arrogant freshman did.

The freshman glared at the RA disgustedly, then muttered something like an apology and turned back to his food. The older girl was laughing openly, but she didn't taunt him further and turned back to talk with her friends, sitting next to her on her other side. As the RA walked away, a girl sitting next to me elbowed me in the ribs and rolled her eyes, grinning.

"I'm Riley," she said cheerfully when I smiled back.

"Ryann," I replied, shaking her hand briefly. "Are you new here too?"

She nodded. "But my brother goes here—that was him, the RA—and he's a senior, so I've been hearing about Burnside most of my life. We're—" she paused, counting on her fingers, "—seven years apart, almost."

"Wow." I didn't know what else to say in response to that. "I have a sister. She's seventeen now, so we're six years apart I guess." I'd never really thought about it before.

"That's cool, what's her name? Maybe Dane knows her."

"Oh, she doesn't go here," I replied quickly, assuming she meant her brother. "Her name's Phoebe."

"She a Squib then?" Riley asked excitedly. "I've never met a Squib before, but I guess they must be pretty common now that wizards and Muggles are marrying more."

"Um…"

"Oh! You're Muggle-born then!" Riley looked even more excited about this. "I'm pureblood—a Connolly, but I guess Muggle-borns wouldn't have heard of us really—and I've only ever met people like me." Her face became slightly troubled. "My parents are weird like that, but Dane says it's stupid."

"I'm actually half-and-half," I clarified for her. "My dad's a wizard, but my mom isn't magic at all."

Riley's face brightened again. "Well that's cool! So you've grown up with both worlds? I wish I had—it's so weird not knowing what a telemaphone is, when even Dane does. But I guess that's because he's been going here for so long, he's bound to have met some Muggle-borns and all, and I guess he took Muggle Relations—it's required for sophomores, you know." I smiled as she babbled on; she reminded me of Jane, though they looked nothing alike. Riley's hair was the same dark brown, but it was bone straight and fell only to her shoulders, a good inch or two shorter than Jane's. Her eyes were not brown, but hazel, leaning toward green. She had a pretty face even at that age, and her features were soft and feminine.

"I haven't grown up with magic, actually," I told her with a laugh when she finally paused for breath. "My dad wasn't sure I'd have magic, since he's a Muggle-born and the gene might not be passed to me…especially after Phoebe was a Muggle."

"Oh," Riley said with some surprise.

"Have you grown up knowing about Burnside and everything, though?" I asked excitedly. Riley nodded, smiling and cheerful again, and proceeded to tell me everything she knew about the school. By the end of dinner, we had both talked ourselves hoarse, and I thought cheerfully that I had made a new friend. As much as I missed Jane, it would be nice to have someone to talk to in the dorm room.

Riley told me about the different dormitories over dessert: Bryant was supposed to be for brave kids, Zephyr for the jocks, Hewitt for the brainy ones (Alex _must_ have been put there, I thought with a smile), Lavada for the artists, and Donovan for the bullies.

"Why would there be a house for bullies?" I asked around a mouthful of chocolate cheesecake. "I mean, that can't be _all _they are, is mean!"

Riley shrugged. "Dane says the Donovan kids are put in the same house so they'll take each other down a few pegs, y'know what I mean? They all think they're the kings of the world, and maybe if they're all together they'll realize they can't _all_ be that way." We giggled about that for a while, and by the time we'd switched to discussing the qualities of Bryant kids, the feast was coming to a close. I watched in fascination as the food simply disappeared from the plates and platters, and Riley explained that the kitchens were below, and things were magically transported between the two rooms.

The commons dining hall suddenly went quiet as the president, Professor Rilozo, stood up for a final word. Riley and I stopped talking immediately and turned to listen politely to another long lecture.

"Your Resident Assistants will direct you to your dormitories," she finished up after a happy speech about what wonderful times we'd have at Burnside. "Please go to them for _any_ problems you might have concerning your stay here, and they will be sure to help you or direct you to someone who can. Of course, I'm always here if you need me! It's my personal goal to get to know each and every one of you throughout the year!" I looked around at the hundreds of students dubiously. It didn't seem entirely possible, but I wondered if she had a magically enhanced memory. Now that magic was a fact, anything seemed possible.

"Please have a wonderful first night, and a wonderful year! Breakfast starts at seven as usual!" The president sat back down and surveyed her school from her seat as we all stood up and prepared to go to our dorms.

Riley led me to where her brother Dane was standing, calling over the heads of the other Bryant students for the freshmen to come with him.

"I already know where the dorm is," Riley explained to me as we pushed our way through the crowd, "but it's nice to be shown by an RA your first year anyway. They usually explain the rules and all that, plus we don't know the password yet."

"Password?"

"Oh of course! Otherwise we'd all be playing jokes on each other all the time. All the dorms are rivals, really, but we're still friends too." This didn't make much sense to me, but I let it pass.

"How do you know where the dorm is already?" I asked instead, as we followed Dane out of the commons and onto the darkened campus.

"Oh, I've visited with my parents a couple of times. Parents and family are always allowed to come for graduation at the end of the year, and my other brother was a senior in Lavada last year." Riley had mentioned Sean a number of times during dinner. I was greatly jealous of her for having brothers; Phoebe was nice, but rather boring really. She only liked makeup and boys, and never wanted to play baseball or climb trees or anything. From the way Riley talked about her brothers, they were all really close despite the age gap. Dane was especially friendly, and didn't tease her as much as Sean did.

Once outside, the crowd dissipated quickly. It seemed that most people were taking longer routes to their dormitories to allow more time to talk with friends from other dorms; soon we freshmen were alone, a clump of shrimpy eleven-year-olds led by a couple of seniors—at least, I assumed they were all seniors. They were all tall and old-looking, and beside them I felt like a little kid, even though I was taller than most of the other freshmen. Riley, I noticed, was rather short now that we weren't sitting down. I looked ahead to her brother and saw that he was shorter than the other RA's, too, and rather stocky with his broad shoulders and big hands.

Bryant Hall looked a little like the Muggle Relations building had; it was made of brick, with white trim in a fancy design around the windows and doors. There were flower beds around the whole building, or at least the part I could see, and some windows were equipped with flower boxes, now empty. The building was four stories, and very large.

Dane and the other RA's led us through the double doors at the front of the building, informing us as they did so that the password was "blasphemous wombat". Stamped into the white trim around the door, in Greek styled letters, were the words "BRYANT HALL." I grinned excitedly and fairly jumped with anticipation as I pushed forward with Riley to crowd into the dormitory.

There were only twelve freshman assigned to Bryant, but with the four RA's there as well, the front room of Bryant Hall felt pretty crowded. I wondered what it must be like when _all_ the students were crammed into it after classes.

"Listen up!" one of the RA's called out loudly. We stopped talking immediately and turned to look at her. I noticed the annoying boy from dinner rolling his eyes to the boy standing next to him, who sniggered. The RA didn't notice, however.

"This is the first floor lounge," she told us clearly, indicating the room we stood in. "There's one on every floor, basically in the middle like this. In here you can hang out, do homework, whatever. There's a fireplace in the back corner, there, but it only really gets cold enough for that during the winter. It won't even be lit until November." She paused, and the RA standing next to her took over.

"There's an ice box in the other corner, and it's for use by anyone in this dorm," she said, indicating a large white box in the back. It looked like a horizontal refrigerator. "_Always_ label whatever you put in there, and _never_ take someone else's food without their permission. I, for one, will personally chastise anyone who eats my personal supply of ice cream." She glared around at us warningly, then let Dane take over.

"The right side of Bryant Hall is for the girls," Dane said, pointing to his left—our right—so there would be no mistake what he meant. "The left is for the boys." Again, he pointed, and he smiled slightly as he added, "You're supposed to stay separate." The girls gasped softly and burst into giggles, while the boys rolled their eyes at our behavior and tried to look cool. Dane and the other RA's were grinning at each other and laughing silently at us.

"You kids are the unlucky ones," the last RA cut in. He was a tall guy with dreadlocks and very white teeth. "You get the top floor, and there's no elevators here." He laughed mockingly and headed off toward the left side. "Alright kiddos, bedtime!" He and Dane led the boys off to their side of the building, and we girls followed the other two RA's, crowding out of the lounge about the time the other students started to arrive.

"We're Laura and Adie," one of the RA's said as we left the lounge. She was tall and blonde, with a friendly smile. Adie was almost as tall, with flaming red hair and a copious amount of freckles. "If you have any questions about the dorms or the rest of the campus, you can come to us."

"Don't go to the guys," Adie cut in with a wink and a grin. "They'll just try to confuse you more."

Riley leaned in next to me and whispered, "That's Dane's girlfriend, the red-haired one. She's real nice, and so is Laura. They come over to my house all the time in the summer to visit."

"There's a bathroom on every floor," Adie was explaining, "but there's only showers on the first and third. Sorry, you got unlucky, but room assignments change every year." She stopped talking as we started to climb the stairs, then turned around again when we reached the second floor.

"This is where me and Laura are," Adie said, tapping on the first door by the stairs. "You can knock anytime you need us, there's usually someone there except during classes and meals. If you really need someone and we're not there, you can go over to the guys' side—Dane and Jett are on the second floor, right across from the bathrooms. Their door is usually wide open anyway, you can just walk right in if you want."

This said, she and Laura led us up the next flight of stairs to the third floor. We didn't stop there, but climbed right on past to the top floor, where our dorm rooms were.

"And here's your floor. You share it with the sophomores, and your rooms are pretty randomly spaced out."

"About the rooms," Laura cut in suddenly. "There are five of you, so you've been split up into two rooms. There's no real choice in who your roommate is, but if you guys can't stand each other, come talk to me or Adie about it. We'll try to fix things up, and if it's not working out we'll move you." She led us into the closest room. It was depressingly empty except for the occupant's suitcases; the walls were white and bare, the furniture sparse: two beds, two small dressers, two small desks with wooden chairs, and a closet to share. But the windows were open, and a light breeze played in the light curtains. Despite the meager look to the room, I was excited to make mine more like home.

"This is actually a couple of sophomores' room, but they won't mind if we show it to you," Laura explained. "The furniture is standard, and you're not allowed to replace it, but when you get older sometimes you can transfigure it for the year. If you're really nice, you might convince an older student to do it for you. You can put up whatever you want on the walls, but anything more drastic than posters and whatnot, come and see us first for permission." She looked at Adie. "Anything else?"

"I can't think of anything," the other girl said with a shrug. "Come talk to us if you need anything," she said once again. "We'll be in our room for the rest of tonight, just knock first." Adie and Laura smiled and made to walk away.

"Oh, one last thing," Adie said suddenly, turning back from the stairs to face us. "Curfew for you freshmen is eight o'clock Sunday through Thursday, nine o'clock Friday and Saturday. Breakfast starts at seven, classes start at eight—you'll get your schedules over breakfast tomorrow—and dinner is at five except on feast nights. Lunch is served from eleven o'clock to two o'clock, because classes don't all get out for lunch at the same time. As freshmen you'll have a pretty standard schedule, so you'll probably eat around noon." Then they turned and disappeared down the stairs at last.

There were five of us standing in the empty hallway; we stared at each other in confusion.

"Does anyone know where you're supposed to be sleeping?" a girl with short blonde hair said quietly. We all shook our heads. It appeared the RA's had forgotten a very important bit of information.

"What are we supposed to do?" Melanie Apple asked in a slightly squeaky voice. I'd almost forgotten she was in my dorm.

The other girl, who was almost as tall as I was with sandy blonde hair and large brown eyes, spoke up clearly. "Well, I think we should just go around and look for our bags. They've already been delivered to that room," she said logically, pointing at the room the RA's had shown us. We all shrugged and followed her down the hall, but before we could reach the first door there was a loud meow from near our feet. I looked down in surprise.

"Quiz!" He'd been put in a special compartment below the bus during the ride over, and I'd only assumed he would be delivered in his carrying case with the rest of my bags. "How did you get out?" The ginger cat launched himself at me and landed not-so-neatly on my shoulder; I winced as his back claws dug into my skin.

"Ouch, Quiz," I said sternly, helping him get settled around my neck. He was obviously regretting this precarious perch, and was walking back and forth across my shoulders.

"That's an interesting cat," Riley commented, staring at Quiz as he tried to find a safe position. "Did anyone see which room he came from?" No one had, but when I shook my head Quiz became thoroughly exasperated and tumbled to the floor. Shaking his paws in a disapproving way, he trotted away down the hall.

"Looks like he's going back, though," I said, and we hurried to follow him.

My room turned out to be at the far end of the hall, at the corner where the hall bent to lead to the lounge. There were three sets of furniture in my room; my suitcases had been carefully piled at the foot of the bed by the window, for which I was glad.

"Oh, good, those are my things!" Riley announced happily as we entered the room. I was greatly relieved that I would be rooming with someone I knew, especially since it was Riley. The girl with short blond hair sat experimentally on the bed by the closet, where her bags had been placed.

"Not bad," she decided, and flopped onto her back. Melanie and the other girl still had to find their room, so we all left that one and walked back up the hallway, looking into the dorms. Other students had started to arrive by now, and we surprised a few of them by opening their doors, then disappearing with a quick "sorry."

The other room turned out to be just a few doors down from ours, even on the same side of the hall. Melanie rushed to greet her owl, a large dark bird with fine white designs on its chest.

"Chogan's a Stygian owl," she told us proudly. "My grandma got him from Brazil when she went there on vacation a few years ago, and he likes me best in the family so I was allowed to bring him to school." Chogan lifted his ear-tufts interestedly at us and uttered a "wak-wak" kind of sound. Melanie soothed him and stroked his black back, then carefully locked him in his cage again. We'd already agreed to go back to the bigger room to talk.

It was almost eight o'clock when we got settled in the room, but the rest of the floor was wide awake and walking around from room to room anyway, so we figured we wouldn't get in too much trouble for staying up late. We talked mostly about our families and school: Stephanie, the girl with short blonde hair who was staying with Riley and me, was a Muggle-born but thought she had an aunt or two on the east coast who were witches. She had a twin brother, Tom, who'd been sorted into Bryant as well. Carolyn was the other girl, and her parents were a witch and wizard.

"But I'm not actually a pure-blood," she told Riley, who hadn't recognized her last name—Taylor. "My dad is a Muggle-born, and my mom's dad is Muggle."

We talked until nine, when Melanie suggested tentatively that we should be awake during our first classes tomorrow. The hall did seem to have quieted down considerably by now, so Carolyn and Melanie headed back to their own room.

I couldn't let Quiz out the window from the fourth floor, so Riley and Stephanie agreed to leave the door open enough for him to get in and out. The minute I got into bed, he jumped off my desk with a soft meow and padded out into the hall. I worried about him for a minute as I was falling asleep, but he'd always done fine on his own at home, and I figured magical cats had some other defenses besides their claws.

I dreamed that night of cats with laser beam eyes, and woke up with Quiz lying on my chest, staring lazily at me with his own, quite normal, yellow-green eyes.

The staff table had, as I'd guessed it would, disappeared from the dining hall when I walked in the next morning for breakfast. The stage seemed to have disappeared too, for which I was sad. Surely they didn't use it _only_ for feasts? 

"Is there always this much food?" I heard Stephanie ask as we sat down with Melanie and Carolyn. An older boy sitting nearby overheard and laughed at us.

"Of course not," he said with a grin, "this is just to give you false hopes." He shoved half of a sausage into his mouth and chewed with relish. "Enjoy it while it lasts," he said before turning back to his breakfast.

"Carolyn, you're not really going to eat all that?!" Stephanie asked in surprise or horror, staring at the other girl's plate, which was heaped with scrambled eggs, sausages, bacon, buttered toast, and hash browns.

"Sure I am," she replied with a grin. "You heard the man. Oh, and call me Lyn," she directed at all of us. "I didn't think to tell you last night, but that's what I usually go by." Just then, a tall boy with reddish hair sat down next to Stephanie.

"Oh, hi Tom," she said with a smile. "This is my brother," she told us, and Tom smiled slightly. "Tom, this is Lyn, Melanie, Ryann, and Riley." He nodded to each of us, that little smile still playing around his mouth, then turned to his breakfast. For the rest of the meal, neither spoke to anyone but each other except when they were directly addressed.

About half past seven, there was a great flapping noise from somewhere behind me. I turned in alarm to see hundreds of owls soaring through the large window that made up for half the wall on that side of the dining hall. The glass seemed to have disappeared to make room for the birds—no, it hadn't. I looked more closely and saw that the owls were flying _through_ the glass window, as easily as if through a sheet of water. I watched this with my mouth hanging open until one of the owls flew right at me, barely skimmed the top of my head with its feet, and landed gracefully on my breakfast plate.

I stared at it for a few seconds before realizing the envelope in its beak was addressed to me.

"I've got a letter," I announced with some surprise. Who would be writing to me already? It didn't look like any of my family's handwriting.

"Of course you do, it's your schedule silly," Lyn informed me. She was already ripping open hers, and the owl who'd delivered it was long gone.

"Oh," I said softly, and took the letter from the bird. It took off immediately, leaving downy feathers on my plate. I grimaced and pushed the plate aside, then tore open my schedule.

"Oh, look, we've got our first class together," Riley said happily, reading over my shoulder. "Charms with Professor Hewitt." I recognized the name and looked up with a frown.

"Not the same Hewitt as Hewitt Hall?" I asked.

"Yes, of course," Riley replied with a laugh, now surveying her schedule for the rest of the week. "He _would_ have donated the smart hall—he's supposed to be brilliant. Should've been the president, Dane always said. Ooh, look, we're flying today!"

I quickly ceased wondering how old Professor Hewitt must be to have donated the dormitory, and looked at the rest of my schedule.

"Only three classes today?" This was a big change from the seven I'd come to expect from middle school. "Nice."

"Yeah, but look how long they are," Melanie said with a little groan. "Two hours in Charms, a ten minute break, two hours in Potions—"

"You have Potions second?" I looked at my own schedule. "I don't have it at all today."

"I have it second," Riley offered, still studying Friday's schedule.

"So…we don't all have the same schedule?" I asked sadly. "I thought they'd…I don't know…keep the freshmen together or something."

"Well they do," Lyn cut in, "but not the dormitories. Can you imagine if we only had classes with our own roommates? We'd never meet anyone new!" I could see the logic in this of course, but I wasn't excited about having to go to classes where I didn't know anyone. I quickly began comparing schedules with the few people I knew, so I wouldn't be unprepared.

It turned out I had double Charms with just Riley, then Care of Magical Creatures with Stephanie and Tom—though I couldn't count on them to be much company if they were together—then lunch. After lunch I had double Transfiguration with Riley and Lyn. That was the end of my day, until flying lessons at four o'clock; I couldn't believe those were my only classes, until I looked at Tuesday's schedule. Defense Against the Dark Arts and Care of Magical Creatures in the morning, then double Potions and Magical Theory and History in the afternoon. It shocked me that I wouldn't have the same classes every day, and wouldn't get out at the same time every day, and wouldn't have lunch at the same time every day, and wouldn't have all my friends in all my classes… Everything was so different from normal schools, and I wasn't sure if I liked it or not.


End file.
